


Jungle Fever

by Imnotahero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Underage Sex, Dancing, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Endgame, Fae & Fairies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Innuendo, Jungle, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stand, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles-centric, The Jungle (Teen Wolf), Underage Drinking, even the twists have twists, sterek is endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 97,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imnotahero/pseuds/Imnotahero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have the best idea in the history of ideas!” Danny croaks loudly, bouncing even more giddily. “Guys, we’re taking Stiles here with us.”</p><p>The one where Danny kidnaps Stiles for a night of fun at Jungle that leads to first times and revelations that Stiles is perfectly happy to keep to himself afterwards. Life however has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this after reading a Tumblr discussion about who the new character of Deputy Parrish might have a romantic interest in. Many seemed to like the idea of Stiles figuring out his attraction to guys because of Parrish. Someone, sadly I can't remember who, asked what if Stiles met him at Jungle and later realized his dad was working with him. I shamelessly stole the idea and ran with it. If I ever find out who gave the prompt, I will give credit.
> 
> And on a side note this was never supposed to expand beyond this oneshot chapter, but too many stroked my ego and convinced me to continue. The rest of the story is 100 % "pantsed" meaning i've been flying off the seat of my pants making it all up as I go. You've been warned :)

Stiles was not quite sure how he got here.

Or, no. That was not entirely true.

He knew perfectly well how he got to Jungle, _that_ was all thanks to Danny. But the details after they arrived at the club werea bit hazy now that he’s way passed his fourth drink. Drinks which by the way were most certainly _not_ plain Cokes this time around.

The night had begun in a way that was depressingly starting to become “normal” in the wake of the whole Darach Debacle. This included a three hour research session with Lydia to dig up ways to eviscerate a herd of Kelpies. Because yes, Kelpies was a thing and yes of course they’d decided on Beacon Hills as the next stop on their tour of mayhem.

It was fair to say that the night’s readings had not been classified as good times, cause the source material had been sketchy to say the least, and in Ancient Greek to boot. Even Lydia had trouble with that (not that she would admit to such a thing, heaven forbid), and they’d spent most of the time pouring over dictionaries and thus making very slow progress.

Scott had been trying his damnedest to stay positive in an attempt to embrace his newfound status as Alpha, he’d ended up annoying them more than helping. His heart was in the right place, bless his soul but his hovering was just distracting.

It was on nights like this Stiles almost missed Derek. He might be a surly bastard, but at least he had a sliver of background information and history they could rely on. And without him around there was no one for Stiles to actively annoy, at least not without serious consequence. Allison would probably stab him if he pushed too far; and Isaac had a set of very trigger-happy claws that Stiles was not keen to get aquainted with. And Lydia. Well, Stiles was convinced she could kill with sheer force of will if she so decided. Derek on the other hand only threatened, he never followed through. (Except for that one time with the steering wheel, but Stiles sort of had that coming anyway.)

When they finally had called it quits  (Lydia has fallen asleep on top of her research notes), Stiles felt exhausted. He dropped off Lydia and had every intention of heading home, but instead ended up at the Kwik-E-Mart buying the biggest cup of coffee they offered.

Stiles knew he needed sleep, but he dreaded the dreams and nightmares the link they shared to the Nemeton brought. So, on nights when his dad had a night shift, Stiles would more often than not end up driving around aimlessly for most of the night.

He’d just paid for his coffee and was contemplating whether or not he should add a bag of Doritos to his mix of unhealthy midnight snacks when Danny and a couple of his slightly older and decidedly cooler friends spilled into the store.  Stiles didn't even have time to contemplate hiding.

“Stilinski!”

Danny was smiling broadly and literary bounced over. Before Stiles knew what was happening he was draped over him like a Snuggie, giving him a bone-crushing hug. This _was not_ standard Danny behavior. Normally he tended to regard Stiles as something of a nuisance giving him a wide berth -  or if possible, avoid him altogether.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Danny giggled and clapsed him on the shoulder. Not entirely sober, Stiles concluded. That explained a lot.

“Getting caffeinated, dude,” said Stiles while trying to balance the cup so it would’t spill. “What about you? Out and about on a school night. Tsk tsk. And where’s Ethan?”

Danny’s face went from sunshine and daisies to stormy and murderous in an impressive 0.6 seconds flat.

“That bad, eh? Sorry for prying.”

Stiles was not a founding member of the Alpha twins’ fan club and would not be forging a membership in the foreseeable future, but he had to concede that Ethan seemed to legitimately care for Danny. But evidently there was some sort of trouble in paradise. Stiles hoped it wasn’t supernatural. He did not feel up to the task of bringing Danny up to speed. At least not tonight.

Danny muttered under his breath and let go of Stiles much to his relief.

“He’s keeping things from me,” he admitted with a growl. “I don’t think he’s cheating or anything like that, but he obviously has secrets, and he’s always running off to god knows where with Aiden and they won’t tell me what they’re doing.”

Stiles felt slightly guilty. Nine out of ten times Scott was the one summoning them. Their relationship was tentative and all kinds of probationary but they seemed eager to show that they could be trusted, and when trouble rolled in, the more claws at their disposal, the better. And trouble rolled in quite frequently these days.

Danny squared his shoulders and smiled devilishly. “So, I decided that if he’s keeping secrets and traipsing around at all hours with his brother, then surely I can do the same with my friends. We’re heading for Jungle for a night of hardcore dancing.”

His friends were finishing up at the counter and Danny tossed them a pack of gum with an inebriated grin and a little twirl that Stiles wished he’d caught on tape. But then Danny almost lost his footing and grabbed hold of Stiles and started jumping up and down, and things were suddenly not so amusing. Liberal amounts of coffee spilled down Stiles’ shirt and he swore creatively. Danny did not notice any of this.

“I have the best idea in the history of ideas!” he croaked loudly, bouncing even more giddily. “Guys, we’re taking Stiles here with us.”

Stiles tried to protest but it was drowned in Danny’s shrieks of glee and was promptly joshed out of the store and before he knew what's happening, he was squeezed into the backseat between Danny and a guy who might be named Phil (or Jesus, Stiles was not quite sure), his Jeep abandoned at the scene.

Danny was talking a mile a minute and it took Stiles a few moments to realize he was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Eh, Danny. What’cha doing, buddy?”

Stiles was doing his level best to do the buttons _up again_ , but Danny smacked his fingers away and promptly pulled so hard on the poor garment that buttons flew every which way. Phil/Jesus peeled it off him before he could do much more than gape and then he was sitting there in just a black t-shirt. Or it used to be black, now it was more greyish after many years of wear but at least it hid the lingering coffee stains relatively well. And yes it was a little on the snug side, but Stiles had ignored that when dressing this morning seeing as he had a shirt on over it. Note the past tense.

Danny cackled and clapped his hands like a tipsy fangirl. “Stilinski, you’ve been holding out, bro!”

“What?” Stiles was busy trying to will the t-shirt to increase a size but his inner wizard was not cooperating. Danny doesn’t seem to mind.

“There is actually muscle under all those layers. Ha, who knew?”

Phil/Jesus made sounds that Stiles interpreted as approval, but he's afraid to look. They were thankfully coming up on Jungle and it was a relief to spill out into fresh air and away from the wandering hands of Danny’s somewhat creepy friend.

“I don’t have a fake idea,” Stiles whispered to Danny. “The one I’ve got expired in 1990. I totally got screwed on that one.”

Danny smiled broadly and clapsed a hand on Stiles shoulder steering him towards the entrance. The line was mind-numbingly long.

“Don’t worry about it, I know the bouncer.”

And true enough, three minutes later they were all inside and nursing their first drinks of the evening. All paid for by a couple of guys at the bar.  

After his third drink dancing commenced and Stiles promptly decided that dancing was the best thing ever. The music was loud, the dance floor packed and before he knew it he was doing some very heavy gyrating, sandwiched between Danny and this other guy, who thankfully was not Phil/Jesus.  He might be on the fast track to drunken oblivion, but even in his inebriated state he would not touch that guy with a ten foot stick made out of solid mountain ash.

But that was then and this was now. Now the beat of the music was just this vague background noise. Somehow dancing with Danny turned into grinding with the other guy. And then the hands had started wandering and Stiles had been just the tiniest surprised to realize that he liked the feel of firm abs under his hands. And he liked even better large hands squeezing his ass and snaking under his by now sweat-sticky t-shirt to rake nails over sensitive nipples.

Stiles was slightly out of breath and pressed into a dark corner away from prying eyes. And they’re making out and it’s all kinds of awesome, and he’s never been this hard in his life. They’re making out like the world was ending. Something it very well might be, because a string of creatures of escalating terror have been cropping up in Beacon Hills lately making Stiles’ life very miserable, but at the moment he couldn’t really care one way or the other, because hot damn!

Kelpies? What Kelpies?

The guy broke the kiss and Stiles heard himself whimper at the loss. But it soon turned to a moan because he's latched on to his neck and he's sucking, and it’s sending shivers into every nerve-ending in his body. His mouth travelled down to his collar bone, tugging his well-worn t-shirt down for better access and Stiles felt his legs turn to jelly. He vaguely wondered if it’s possible to die from this, because he’s always kind of thought he’d meet his demise at the end of a set of vicious claws or sharp teeth, but this is so, so much better.

“God, you’re so hot,” the guy murmured against his skin and all Stiles could utter was some guttural growl, because his hand was slowly travelling down his stomach and – yes, he’s found his happy trail. Follow the trail.

Kissing was great, kissing was awesome, but Stiles was losing the feeling in his legs and he’s so hard it’s bordering on painful and he needed – _something_. Something _more_.

He’s never done anything like this before. Just a few chaste kisses with girls he just had a passing interest in (and Lydia, but Lydia was different), so he’s at a loss for what to do, and so he just let instinct take over. And Stiles wanted! Stiles wanted it all, and he grabbed hold of the guys' hips and yanks their groins together and it’s heaven.

“Yeah,” breathed the guy into Stiles’ ear and if he remembered how to string words together he would be cursing. But he’s reduced to growls and moans, and there’s a fire spreading throughout his body, and it’s building.

“Maybe,” the guy murmured snaking his arms around him and slowly raking his nails down his spine, “we should take this somewhere else. You wanna get out of here?”

Stiles nodded stupidly and nearly had a heart attack when the guy blinded him with his smile and his eyes were just so green. “Do you need to let your friends know?” he asked and twined his fingers with Stiles’ lightly tugging him towards the door.

Stiles craned his neck in all directions and spotted Danny in the middle of the dance floor totally lost in the music. He doesn’t think he will even remember that Stiles came with them in the state he's in. He did however spot Phil/Jesus at the bar and gave him a slight nod. He looked like he’s nibbling on limes with the way his mouth was pursed, but acknowledges the sign none the less.

“I’m good,” said Stiles breathlessly and the guy grinned predatorily and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Or very close.

 

***

Stiles ended up keeping his late night adventure with Jordan a secret. When his dad returned from work the following morning Stiles was back at the house, Jeep and all, showered and ready for school. Sure, he’s maniacally giddy and even more spastic that usual, but his dad just looked at him fondly, asked if there was anything he needed to know about. Stiles blubbered on about Kelpies for a good ten minutes and that was that.

He’s a bit concerned that Scott or any of the other wolves might smell something on him, but apparently his three turns in the shower had done the trick and no one looked at him funny or asked any questions. And since none of them possess even a sliver of tact (save perhaps Allison) and would've blurted out something if they caught a strange scent he’s fairly sure they’re clueless.

He’s not sure if Danny had seen him leave with Jordan or if Phil/Jesus had said anything, but if he did Danny didn’t address it. Besides he looked so hung over it wasn’t even funny and Ethan was in a foul mood, so he probably had enough on his plate anyway.

Stiles had every intention of telling Scott of course, but the next night shit went down with the Kelpies and he was forced to put it on hold to focus on research and coming up with plans. When the dust settled a few weeks later it just felt wrong. He’s a bit afraid Scott might be annoyed that he hadn’t told him straight away, and it wasn’t like he'd ever see Jordan again anyway. It hadn’t been that kind of a thing. But still it was all kinds of loud and awesome, and the memories lived on in vivid Technicolor in his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 *

“You honestly expect your dad to eat those veggie burgers?” Scott looked at the Styrofoam container like it might hold toxic waste. “They smell like shit, dude.”

“Not all eat like wolves,” said Stiles as he pushed open the doors to the Sheriff station. “My dad has a more refined pallet. And besides, I talked to his doctor and his cholesterol is up again, and I do what I must. He will eat it, because we will be here to witness him do so.”

Scott chuckled. “You’re evil, you know that right?” Stiles gave him his most shit eating grin. “Only like 50 %, and no more than 40 on a good day.”

They waved hello to the deputies at the front desk and Stiles felt a pang of sorrow for the faces he would never see again. He’s spent so much time here growing up it feels like a second home, and losing deputies was a bit like losing family. Stiles had done enough of that, thank you very much.

He pushed open the door to his dad’s office, Scott in tow, without bothering to knock. “Yo, dad. Drop the doughnut, I bring healthy stuff for you to… oh, wow. Sorry.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, and Scott walked straight into him with a muffled sorry. His dad was not alone. Apparently he was in a meeting of sorts, because someone was sitting in Stiles’ usual seat.

“Hello, son,” said his dad with a practiced roll of the eyes. “One of these days you will learn that it is considered polite to knock when met with a closed door.”

Stiles squirmed. “Well, excuse me, but in my experience when your door is closed it usually means you’re eating junk food.”

He noticed that his dad does not refute this observation, something which they surely will need to have a serious talk about later. Now however he should make his retreat in the most graceful manner possible. Which means none at all. His dad stopped them.

“Now that you’re here you might as well meet our new deputy.”

The sheriff gestured for them to enter and Stiles put the containers on the shelf by the door. The guy rose and turned, and Stiles’ brain froze.

“Deputy Parrish, this is my son, Stiles, and his best friend Scott. You can expect to see a lot of them; they seldom keep out of trouble for more than a couple of days at the time.”

It was Jordan.

Jordan looked equally shocked but recoverd more quickly. He hurried to shake Scott’s hand but Stiles was still rooted to the spot, his cheeks radiating heat.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Scott looked concerned and Stiles willed himself to shake Jordan’s hand, remembering all too well the last time his hands had been on him. Not to mention what said hands had done.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” he muttered and nodded to Jordan who was pale under his tan. He shook his head minutely to convey that he wouldn’t say anything and hastily retreated out of the office with a muffled “see you later” to his dad.

Scott ran after him, looking confused. Stiles sprinted out of the building and threw himself into the jeep, draped his hands over the steering wheel and let his forehead fall down. He absolutely refused to get a panic attack. Not over this.

“Dude, what’s the matter?” Scott climbed into the seat next to him, his voice filled with concern. Stiles groaned.

“The universe is punishing me,” he moaned. “I’ve clearly pissed off the gods. Or druids. Possibly both.”

“You’re making even less sense than usual. Punishing you for what?”

“Sins of the flesh. For daring to orgasm. For putting my willie where it shouldn’t be.”

“Now you’ve lost me completely.”

Stiles leaned back into his seat and stared at Scott with pleading eyes. “Don’t get mad, but I’ve kind of not told you about a night of drunken debauchery at Jungle with Danny.”

Scott’s eyes bugged out. “You went to Jungle? Without me?”

Stiles laughed despite the situation. “You’re upset I went without you? You’re the best, man. Danny kidnapped me at the Kwik-E-Mart a few weeks back, he was not quite sober and mad at Ethan and seemed to think it was a good idea to bring me along on his adventure. I ended up three sheets to the wind and thoroughly de-virginized by the night’s end.”

Stiles let Scott absorb the information for a moment.

“Wow,” breathed Scott, a look of astonishment on his face. “So, dudes, huh?”

Stiles shrugged. “Apparently my sexuality is somewhat flexible. Who knew?”

Scott laughed. “Most people, I’d say. You’ve been bugging poor Danny for years and you spend a lot of time flirting with Derek.”

“I do _what_ now with Derek?”

“Oh, forget about Derek. Tell me more about this guy from Jungle. What’s his na…. Oh!”

Stiles clapped his hands slowly and Scott looked slightly embarrassed.

“And there it is. I lose my v-card to what I thought was a random stranger I would never see again, only to have him turn up as my dad’s new deputy. Could my life be more complicated?”

Scott was about to answer when his phone beeped loudly. He pulled it out immediately (at least he’s learnt to answer it a.s.a.p. these days, thank goodness) and checked the message.

“Uh, I think it can.”

Stiles whipped his head around and Scott held up the phone for him to read.

“It’s from Derek. He’s back in town.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr (http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/) - don't be shy!


	2. Footsie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Stiles is not having a good day. His dad's dinner guest is not making the situation any better.

Stiles was not having a good day.

No, scratch that. Stiles was not having a good _week_.

Looking back he could in fact not remember when he last had a good week or a good day for that matter. So taking that into consideration his day wasn’t really all that bad. But certainly not good. Not good at all. Regression to the mean was so not a concept that applied to his life at the moment.

He stomped into the house in a manner that would put baby elephants to shame, tossed his jacket at the peg in the hall (and missed by a mile and half but couldn’t be bothered to pick it up) and stormed towards the stairs.

“Fucking Scott,” he mumbled under his breath and almost had a small heart attack when he ran smack into his dad.

“That’s a dollar in the swear jar,” said the sheriff with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed.

He was still in his uniform. Stiles had no idea if he was coming or going. Not that he cared one way or the other. All he wanted was to play some angry music at a deafening volume so that he could scream and rant his little heart out without the risk of any of his many werewolfy friends hearing him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he blurted out with an exaggerated eye roll and promptly realized his mistake. “Oh, crap. Me and my fucking mouth.”

“Well, dear son of mine, that is three additional dollars, and you know what we say about fours?”

Stiles was aware there was a fifty fifty chance his dad was messing with him, but try as he might he still hadn’t cracked the code. The sheriff had no tells whatsoever and had without a doubt the best damned poker face this side of the road. Mrs. Clarke across the street though was a master. He had nothing on her.

“Four means it’s an established habit and triples the amount,” grumbled Stiles his mood blackening by the minute. He dug through his pockets and shoved a handful of notes and coins at his dad before continuing up the stairs.

“Keep the change,” he threw over his shoulder and it rubbed him all the wrong ways when his dad actually laughed.

“You just handed me 1.87 in small change, you owe me buddy.”

Stiles knew without looking that he was smirking. “Add it to my tab,” he muttered as he reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh I will, mister. And dinner is in one hour. Please – “

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Call me when it’s ready,” he muttered darkly and wrenched open the door to his room. A moment later Fallout Boy was rocking it out way above the recommended decibel level and Stiles could finally relax.

It’d been a week since Stiles had walked in on his worst nightmare come true. His little impromptu trip to The Jungle with Danny and his scary friends had made his already chaotic life even more confusing. On top of having to research Kelpies and try to categorize the faes (a nightmare topic), he’d been forced to deal with the realization that he actually liked _both boys and girls_. The totally unplanned yet highly satisfactory night with Jordan had been illuminating to say the least, and had provided him with spank bank material for months to come (pun very much intended). And best part of all, it had been with a total stranger that he’d never expected to see again.

Yeah, clearly the universe was busy crapping all over Stiles’ life and fate could kiss his bony ass with the way things had been going lately. Walking into his dad’s office and finding none other than Jordan (or Deputy Parrish if you will) sitting there in all his pretty eyed and hot glory had been a shock so great, he’d been lost for words for more than a full minute. That never happened.

Scott had been surprisingly supportive when he found out that a) Stiles was swinging all over the place and b) had been keeping his swinging escapades to himself for a good few weeks. He even promised to keep it to himself and had sworn not to divulge anything, not even to Allison. And for a while Scott seemed to be totally fine with letting the issue rest until the day Stiles would feel the need to address it.

But that was before Danny had decided that Stiles was to be his new Jungle buddy, and had announced that to the entire lunch table. Stiles groaned and rolled over, burying his head under the pillow, and replayed the embarrassing scene over in his mind.

They’d been sitting at their usual table, Scott was trying to read (he was the world’s slowest reader ever!), Stiles had been bugging Isaac about his new scarf (the guy had one in every color it seemed) while Lydia and Allison had their noses buried in some sort of magazine. None of them had noticed Danny approaching, but all of a sudden there he was. This was odd because Danny tended to give them all a wide berth if possible. It was almost like he could smell the supernatural on them and didn’t want to be infected.

Lydia noticed him first.

“Hey Danny,” she said sweetly. “Did you need something?”

“Hey Lydia,” he answered with a smile, dimples and all. Stiles always felt a slight urge to poke at them. They looked so deep. Like half his finger could disappear down them and never resurface. Stiles’ mind was a strange place at times.

“Sorry to interrupt, it won’t take long. Stiles, (four heads shot up, looking shocked from Danny to Stiles and back again), I’m planning on going to Jungle again tomorrow night. We had such a blast last time, I mean; seriously I didn’t know you knew all those drag queens. You keen?”

Danny had looked so earnest and hopeful, like he actually wanted him to come. He didn’t seem to notice the others reactions or the fact that Stiles had turned into a human-sized eggplant if color was anything to go by.

“Eh, sounds fun and all, but eh… tomorrow isn’t good. Another time perhaps?”

Danny had shrugged, smiled and fricking dimpled at him and said ‘sure thing’. Then he turned around and walked off and Stiles was left with a table full of very inquisitive friends.

Scott might be an alpha. He might even be a true alpha whatever that might mean and once in a while he could keep secrets like a pro (usually those secrets were kept from Stiles as well, a tendency he didn’t much care for). But when faced with his friends and what was only Stiles’ sexual identity - no biggy whatsoever - then secrecy was clearly not all that important anymore.

“Stiles is totally bi,” he spilled with a grin and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Thanks man,” snarled Stiles and hit him on the shoulder. Scott only grinned wider. Fucking werewolves.

“It’s not anything to be embarrassed about,” he continued as if Stiles didn’t already know that. He didn’t much mind if anyone knew, he’d just like to be the one to tell people- when he was ready.

“So nice of you to tell the world my secrets,” Stiles mumbled from deep within his hoodie that he was attempting to escape into like a frightened turtle. And with good reason. Lydia had a very enthusiastic glint to her eyes previously only associated with shopping sprees and Jackson Whittemore. She looked like someone had just handed her the moon and told her it was made of diamonds and brie.

Scott on his part actually sobered and looked somewhat contrite. Allison looked politely intrigued while Isaac was gaping. Someone yanked at his hoodie, and yes that was Lydia for certain. No one had sharper talons that her, not even the werewolves.

“Auch, auch, Lydia! You’re pinching my ear!”

“It’s the only way to get you out of this retched hoodie. No wonder I never saw this coming. Your fashion sense is horrible for a gay man.”

Several freshmen walking by shot him curious looks and Stiles waved manically. They hurried on.

“Thank you for announcing it to the world. And I’m not gay – I’m bi. I like girls too. I’ve always liked girls. I used to _like you_ like you as you well know.”

“And now you don’t because you’re gay,” concluded Lydia smartly and bit into a baby carrot. Stiles fought the urge to growl. Thankfully he suppressed it. Isaac and Scott would only make fun of him anyway.

“For Christ sake, I’m still attracted to you and if you suggested we’d skip out of here to have sordid rump in a friends-with-benefits kind of deal, I’d be all over that. I’m just over my crush on you.”

Lydia shrugged. “Fair enough, I stand corrected. Although that ‘rump’ is so not happening.”

Stiles faked a gasp and clutched his heart. “However will I survive?”

That was the moment he realized Allison was regarding him shrewdly and that was never a good sign. You did not want to be on the wrong side of a shrewd-looking Argent. More times than not it involved arrows and pain. Sometimes knives, just ask Isaac.

“We want details,” she whispered. Stiles shuddered and felt chills run down his spine. _Not the whisper!_ It chilled him to the bone. He seriously did not understand how Scott managed to get it up around her. She scared him shitless on the best of days. It might be the Chinese ring daggers. Or the fact that she could murder him with her pinky finger if she wanted.

“You know I’m going to murder you in your sleep, right,” he hissed at Scott. Scott was a million miles away staring dreamily at Allison’s neck. Stiles for his part wanted to wring his.

The next half hour had perhaps been the most embarrassing in his life, and Stiles Stilinski was no stranger to embarrassment. Allison and Lydia were relentless, Isaac had seemed silently curious and Scott had at one point come to regret his big mouth, because Stiles had been forced into VERY exhaustive descriptions. When he saw how utterly uncomfortable some of the dirtier revelations had made him Stiles had taken great pleasure in embellishing in great detail. The girls had been ecstatic. Scott was hopefully scarred for life.

However it had backfired in a big way when Lydia had begun psychoanalyzing all his male relationships and had drawn some very disturbing conclusions about one very sour and grumpy wolf in particular. That had been the final draw and Stiles had escaped the group and done his best to avoid them for the rest of the school day. He’d only marginally succeeded. Lydia Martin seemed to be omnipresent.

And that had got his mind working overtime on the subject of fricking Derek Hale! Stiles had seen Derek a grand total of once since he’d returned from South America. They had needed some help with the kelpie situation and Derek had brought over Peter’s laptop so that they could search through his stuff. It had taken Stiles three minutes to copy everything over to his external hard drive and within minutes Derek had moonwalked his way into the shadows and out the window without so much as a goodbye. He’d shown up and helped Scott defeat the thing once Stiles had figured out how to go about it, but Stiles and Lydia had been nowhere near that scene.

So to sum things up his best friend had outed his sexual persuasion to all their friends, whereupon they had commenced to extract every sordid detail of his night of de-virginasation. In a truly inspired turn of events the guy who took his cherry had turned out to be his dad’s new deputy and for some reason most of the McCall pack had proceeded to conclude that all this meant that he wanted into Derek’s pants. There was no logic to any of this and Stiles was just fed up beyond belief and desperately wanted to escape it all.

And escape these days tended to star one pretty eyed deputy in particular and always ended with some quality Stiles-time and a need to change bed linens twice daily. It was like being 12 again and discovering that _it_ did more than just pee.

In fact in light of the epically crappy day Stiles had suffered through he honestly felt he deserved to relieve a teeny bit of tension. Jordan might be the new deputy and totally off limits – seriously his dad would skin him alive if he ever found out– but what happened before his inner eye could no one fault him. Right?

But sadly once again the fates were conspiring against him. He’d only managed to unzip his pants when his dad’s voice boomed up the stairs effectively quelling any and all stirrings of the loins.

“STILES, dinner!”

It was a testament to his dad’s pipes that he heard him at all over the music. He zipped his pants up, and quelled the music. It instantly got painfully quiet except for the sound of pots and pans and the faint murmurs of what had to be the radio.

“STILES!”

“Coming!” he yelled despairingly and trudged down the stairs. It had taken his dad suspiciously little time to prepare dinner, and he was gearing up to a very reprimanding talk about the dangers of trans fat and wondering if he should get the pictures of clogged arties he’d printed out just for this kind of occasion.

What the - !!!!

Stiles skidded to a halt in the middle of the living room. Because evidently they were eating at the dining table today. The sheriff had broken out the silverware and that could only mean one of two things 1) Stiles was in big doo doo or 2) they had guests

Unfortunately for Stiles the answer to this question was the previously untested combination of both.

The guest? Well, if you haven’t figured it out yet, then I guess there is little hope for you.

Stiles just stared. And stared some more. If he’d been a cartoon character he would be rubbing his eyes furiously in an effort to rule out hallucinations. Jordan Parrish was sitting at Stiles’ dining room table, wearing a light blue button down shirt and looking hella good.

“Eh... hi?”

Jordan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Dear God! Was he smirking? Stiles couldn’t handle smirking. Jordan’s smirk was all kinds of hot, and he couldn’t have hot smirking guys in his house and not make an absolute fool of himself.

“Hi yourself,” said Jordan and yes that was definitely a smirk. Stiles was so dead.

His dad breezed into the room carrying a pot with something that smelled very heavenly and was that…?

“I see carrots!” blurted Stiles. Jordan snickered. His dad rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Stiles, there’s also broccoli.”

“You did not make this!”

His dad was wearing that exasperated face that meant Stiles was being, well _Stiles_. Jordan was smirking broadly behind his back, the fucker. Pun once again intended.

“Correct again, son. I just got of shift and wouldn’t have time to prepare something like this, so I asked Melissa for help. She delivered this on her way to work.”

“Oh,” said Stiles eyeing the casserole with renewed interest. Melissa McCall was an excellent cook.

“Stiles, I’d like you to properly meet my newest deputy. Deputy Parrish just moved back to Beacon Hills and has joined us full time. You ran out like a crazy person the other day, so I thought I’d invite him to dinner. Try and prove that you’re not a total weirdo, will you?”

Stiles shrugged in his patented way that was more like an elaborate muscle spasm than anything else. The sheriff put the casserole down with a heavy sigh.

“I see that I shouldn’t have bothered. You evidently left all traces of manners up in your room.”

“Oh, sorry, right yeah.” Stiles jerked into action, offered his hand and smiled awkwardly. Jordan took it and shook it firmly. The touch lingered a tad too long to be entirely casual, but thankfully his dad had returned to the kitchen to fetch the rest of the meal.

“Nice to meet you,” muttered Stiles and tried to get his hand back. Jordan was holding on tightly, his eyes never leaving his.

“Oh yes,” he said suggestively. “ _Very nice_.”

Sweet mercy, was Jordan checking him out? Stiles’ eyes widened, his cheeks blushed crimson and he yanked his hand back as if burned. Jordan winked. He fucking winked! Stiles scanned his brain for possible ways of escaping, but it was surprisingly blank. Evidently all his higher brain functions had short-circuited and his downstairs brain had taken over.

Literally!

Oh what the holy hell?

He bodily threw himself into the nearest chair and promptly regretted it. Certainly sitting down helped hide the stirrings south of his belt, but he now found himself seated across from Jordan. Meaning he had to watch him throughout the meal.

His dad sauntered into the room with a beaker of sauce and a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes and for a blessed few minutes everyone’s attention was on the food. It was excellent as always. The sheriff and deputy Parrish (Stiles still had trouble thinking of him as an office of the law – although that did explain the handcuff kink) kept chatting on about some new forms, a glitch in the criminal database and the lack of state funding for new gym equipment. Stiles did his best to stuff his mouth full of food at all times to avoid participating in the conversation. As it turned out that might not be the best strategy.

“Stiles, my god, are you five?” His dad shook his head and gestured to his face. “You’ve got sauce all over your chin. Haven’t you eaten today? You’re practically inhaling it.”

“Sorry,” muttered Stiles and swiped at his chin with his finger. And true enough he seemed to be leaking sauce. He swallowed audibly and licked his finger clean. Across the table Jordan let out a small moan. Stiles shot him a look, his finger still in his mouth. And would you look at that? The smirk was long gone, and the deputy’s very pretty eyes were blown suspiciously wide. He felt something devilishly naughty spring to life and proceeded to swirl his tongue unnecessary around the finger and removing it at an antagonizing slow pace. Deputy Parrish let out another muffled moan, and this time the sheriff noticed.

“Everything okay there, deputy?” he asked all concerned. Stiles hid a guffaw in his napkin. Jordan shot him a murderous glare.

“Yes, yes,” he said hurriedly and smiled a little too widely for it to be entirely authentic. “This is just so incredibly good, my compliments to the cook.”

The sheriff looked pleased enough and went on a rant about what a klutz he was in the kitchen and thank god for great friends. Stiles grinned cheekily and stuffed his mouth with more mashed potatoes. Lots and lots of mashed potatoes.Too much in fact.

“Stiles, for the love of god, would you please close your mouth when you chew? Sometimes you’re like a toddler.”

Stiles gestured wildly almost knocking over his glass, but couldn’t say anything. Jordan grinned wickedly.

“Oh Sheriff, he clearly can’t help himself – some people just really, really likes to _have their mouths stuffed_ –“ Stiles chocked – “with food.”

His dad shook his head despairingly and leaned back in his chair. “And most people would like to not having to watch almost grown men eat like children.”

Stiles swallowed and shot Jordan a murderous glare. How dare he throw innuendoes at him – in front of his dad!!

For the next couple of minutes he focused hard on finishing the meal without looking at Jordan, and at the same time keeping his mouth shut tight while he chewed. It was harder than it sounded. He mostly ignored the conversation happening beside him, but was forced back into it when it turned to Lacrosse.

“Stiles is on the team,” his dad said proudly. “He was the MVP of the state final last season as a matter of fact.” Jordan arched an eyebrow.

“Really – so you’re good _with a stick_ , huh?”

“I can hold my own,” muttered Stiles.

“Oh I bet you can,” said Jordan suggestively. Stiles gaped. His dad – was – right –there! And evidently the densest fucker ever.

“I’m usually on the bench though,” continued Stiles in a desperate attempt to keep the rest of the dinner conversation PG.

“That must be _hard_ ,” answered Jordan smoothly, emphasizing the word hard in a way that left little to the imagination. A second later Stiles felt something brush against his leg and he startled slightly making his fork drop to the floor.

He bent down to pick it up and glanced under the table. He really really shouldn’t have. Jordan’s foot was slowly and deliberately worming its way up Stiles’ leg. It was making all the blood pool south to one region in particular, and Stiles was torn between the instinct to flee the table and the urge to stay down here and watch. Just as he was about to straighten up he caught a glimpse of Jordan’s hand and oh my god the guy was insane! His hand was kneading what looked like a very impressive boner. His motions were slow and controlled yet anything but subtle.

When Stiles emerged fork in hand and face glowing Jordan was leering knowingly and arched an eyebrow. The next moment Stiles felt his foot caress his own achingly hard member, and oh my fucking god – an officer of the law was feeling up him up under the table with his dad right there!!! And he really, really didn't want it to stop.

But unless he wanted to scar his dad for life Stiles need to abort the scene. NOW!

“Ah, eh, can I be excused?” he croaked and swallowed a groan as Jordan’s toes did unspeakable things to his nether region.

“Don’t you want dessert?” asked Jordan innocently. “I’ve brought brownies and _whipped cream_?”

He was trying to kill him. The guy was clearly evil.

“No thanks,” he muttered and made a production out of getting up, his plate strategically placed to hide – _things_.

“Are you not feeling well,” asked his dad all concerned with a furrow on his forehead. “It’s not like you to turn down dessert. You love whipped cream.”

Jordan actually laughed. Stiles bolted for the kitchen, threw the plate in the sink and sprinted for the stairs.

“Turns out I’m lactose intolerant,” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Since when?” he heard his dad ask perplexedly but if he said anything more, he didn’t hear it. He fell into his room, shut the door and ran into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, just in case, yanked his pants down and in an impressive twelve seconds he’d take care of business and leaned over the sink panting like he’d just suffered through a triathlon. In a way he had.

He cleaned up quickly, tossed the soiled underwear and pants in the laundry basket and pulled on his pajamas pants, well and truly ready for this day to be over and done with. He opened the door to his room and for the second time that day he skidded to a halt and just stared.

Derek Hale was sitting on his bed.

Derek Hale.

Was sitting.

On.

His.

Bed.

“Eh,” he began unintelligently. Derek didn’t say a word. He looked grumpy. But then again that was his default setting, so nothing new there. Except he looked grumpier than usual.

“So, eh. How long have you been sitting there?”

It had just occurred to him that he'd just been in _there_. Doing _that_. And if Derek had been there. Then…. Yeah. Awkward.

“Twenty minutes,” deadpanned Derek. “I was waiting for you to finish dinner.”

Sweet Jesus! Stiles flailed internally. Because _werewolf hearing_! And _werewolf scents_!

“Oh wow, sorry.” He gestured to the door and to the bathroom and hoped that Derek understood.

Derek only stared. And then stared some more.

“Eloquent as always I see,” muttered Stiles and gathered the will to cross to his desk. He flopped down in the swirly chair.

“Did you want something?”

That elicited a small reaction from Derek but none that Stiles could make any sense of. His face contorted in what fleetingly looked like a wounded look, but clearly Stiles’ brain was still mush from the orgasm because he blinked and Derek was back to - well Derek.

“I was going to ask if you’d come across anything about selkies, but on second thought it can wait.”

Derek leapt to his feet and headed for the window. He stopped momentarily, his back to Stiles and he seemed oddly hesitant. “I didn’t know…” he said finally and then he was gone. Stiles blinked stupidly at the spot where Derek had just been. Next he heard Jordan’s laughter ringing up the stairs and he fell on his bed wondering if his life could possibly get more complicated.

It could.

 

***********

Come find me on [Tumblr](http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/)


	3. No escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vengeful fae is wreaking havoc in Beacon Hills. But worse yet - deputy Parrish is wreaking havoc on Stiles' libido.

Evidentially Beacon Hills now had a fae problem.

Stiles was actually surprised by how surprised he was. This shit should be second nature by now, but as he was sitting late into the night trying desperately to translate some obscure text in a language long since dead and forgotten (even Lydia was struggling!), he had to stop at intervals to pinch his arm. This served both to keep him from falling asleep and also to check that he wasn’t already dreaming. Because dreaming was not good.

Ever since the creepy (and in hindsight seemingly unnecessary – thank you Dr. Deaton) ice baths his dreams had become a story of escalating terrors. Most nights Stiles would wake up soaked to the bone in cold sweat; images of curling roots and the feeling of being slowly suffocated to death still lingering. Sometimes he’d even seen a wolf circling the Nemeton, and for while it had seemed like it was slowly itching closer, sniffing him out and contemplating approaching. It felt important. It felt like if he could just reach the wolf everything would be okay. But as always with dreams, the more you struggled to get there, the more it slipped away.

Stiles hadn’t mentioned anything about this part to Scott or Allison. They seemed to be struggling with their own demons as it were, and it probably wasn’t of importance anyway. And in recent weeks it seemed like other - _interests_ \- had taken over parts of his dream state as well, because more often than not Jordan – or _deputy Parrish_ \- would show up, chase away the wolf and proceed to ravish him on top of the Nemeton.

Apparently Stiles was one sick bastard and he needed to get his head together and push all thoughts of the very very off limits deputy out of his mind. But that was easier said than done. The guy seemed to be _everywhere_.

Just last week he’d turned up at the high school on official police business to remind the students of the dangers of drinking and driving after some sophomore had gotten in an accident. That was well and good aside from the fact that he'd chosen Stiles to participate in a stupid bit of role play to teach them about first aid. He'd been forced to play the victim and well - let's just say deputy Parrish took the kiss of life to a whole new level. His friends had been beside themselves with glee and lewd jokes. Stiles had fleetingly contemplated transferring schools.

A few days later he’d almost given Stiles a conniption when the doorbell had rung late at night and there he'd been all dressed up in his uniform looking all kinds of fine with some papers that his dad needed to sign ASAP. Stiles had barely recovered from the shock of finding him on his doorstep when Jordan brushed a hand very deliberately over his private bits as he swooped past him all businesslike. Thankfully his dad hadn’t caught the lewd grin he threw of his shoulder that promptly reduced Stiles to nothing but stutters and acute horniness. He had to take a long and ice bath level cold shower as a result.

And that was not counting the time he ran into him at Lou’s getting burgers for yet another late night with Lydia translating old bestiaries. If Lydia hadn’t been waiting out in the jeep, Stiles felt certain Jordan would’ve insisted on taking him to go as well and not just the food.

All those incidents had been manageable because there had either a) been convenient exit routes or b) other people present serving as excellent cockblockers. However his days of avoiding the good deputy were numbered. Now Stiles would be forced to spend an entire afternoon with the pretty-eyed Parrish present and accounted for and without any means of escape.

Stiles groaned and banged his forehead repeatedly on the moldy book Deaton had provided. Just like the man it was turning out to be entirely unhelpful – a lot of words that sounded fancy but meant absolutely nothing. Maybe if he hit his head hard enough he could get a concussion? A trip to the ER sounded almost fun compared to suffering through his dad’s annual cookout with one very brazen and horny deputy on his tail.

Stiles abandoned the headbanging (because hello – painful as fuck!) and flopped down on the bed instead. He supposed “suffering” was taking it a bit far. His libido certainly didn’t object to being chased down by a hot guy, but the thought of his dad finding out was enough to make him physically ill.

With any luck this vindictive fae creature might save him from the whole thing. They still had no real clue as to what kind of fae they were dealing with, and thus had no way of knowing what to do about it. All they did know, with absolute certainty was that it was pissed off and wreaking all kinds of havoc all over town. It had in fact bled into his dad’s work as well, and they’d been forced to clue him in.

It had been a very surreal experience seeing his dad and Derek in the same room while they briefed him on the situation. They’d been scowling from opposite sides of the room, arms crossed and foreheads furrowed. Stiles had done his best to ignore them, but it’d been hard with Lydia cooing things about hostile in-laws in his ear, and he’d hissed at her to shut her trap because _werewolf hearing_ , but she’d just laughed evilly and gone about her business distributing the binders with the info they’d gathered so far. Scott and Isaac had shot him sympathetic looks and Derek had studiously ignored him. Stiles chose the road of denial and convinced himself this was because he hadn’t heard, or alternatively hadn't understood.

Anyway, Lydia and the others were just being stupid and besides it wasn’t important, especially not with a vengeful fae lose in the town. Eventually Stiles drifted off into a fitful sleep filled with a frustraitingly painful mix of Nemeton-horrors and blowjobs.

**

When Stiles woke the next morning it was to his dad shaking him conscious with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

“Rise and shine, sonny. You’re on kitchen duty. I want to see you fresh-faced, showered and smiling down there in no less than ten minutes.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” mumbled Stiles and tried to burrow deeper under the comforter.

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” crowed his dad and the next moment the comforter was rudely removed. Stiles whined.

“Dad! Seriously?” His dad was just standing there wearing a gleeful and downright evil expression.

“Yes, seriously. I see you have _business_ to take care of as well, so I suggest you get a move on.”

Stiles hurriedly covered his junk and leveled his dad with his most aghast expression. “You’re the worst,” he muttered darkly and scrambled (awkwardly) to his feet. “Just for that I’m going to do my best to be very vocal about it during my shower.”

His dad only laughed and waved cheerily as he skipped out of the room. “Do your worst, I’m leaving to pick up the meat for the barbeque anyway. Be sure to close the window first, we don’t want to scar old Mrs. Walton for life.”

Stiles flipped him off, but the sheriff was already halfway down the stairs, whistling shrilly. The annual cookout for the folks at the station and their families was one of the highlights of his year, and normally Stiles loved them too. But knowing that deputy Parrish was going to be here as well, and with his tendency for thinly veiled innuendos and semi-public groping, Stiles had a feeling he was going to be the most sexually frustrated citizen of Beacon Hills in just a matter of hours.

*

Later that afternoon it was evident that he was right. Stiles usually was. Not that anyone actually acknowledged this. Anyway, so not important at the moment.

Stiles scanned the scene and smiled proudly. No one would ever accuse the Stilinskis of having a stylish backyard. It had a slight neglected feel to it with hedges a smidge too uneven and flowerbeds consisting mostly of weeds. But the grass was green, freshly mowed and the smell of sizzling steaks and ribs enough to put a smile on everyone’s faces. There even was a bouncy castle that Stiles secretly were dying to test, but his dad had caught him scoping it out, had crossed his arms and shook his head with such force that he just knew from experience it would be in his best interest to stay clear of it.

So far the cookout was a roaring success, with kids running around and the whole backyard buzzing with laughter and chatter. As always it drew the attention of some of their neighbors as well and Stiles had spotted Mrs. Clarke from across the street sneaking in half an hour ago. She was currently munching happily away at a juicy looking steak and regaling some of the deputies’ wives with tales of her youth. Stiles knew them all and pitied them dearly.

He’d met his dad’s eyes across the yard when she’d emerged in what she obviously thought was a stealthy manner, edging around the corner of the garage with all the grace of a buffalo. They’d shared a smile and studiously ignored her. It always paid off come Christmastime. Her baked goods were to die for.

So on the surface it all looked perfectly fine and under normal circumstances Stiles would’ve welcomed a reprieve from the nightmare that was this fae situation. But below the surface; or rather behind the makeshift bar disk and south of his belt, things were far from okay. He was doing his very best to smile happily and do his newly appointed position as 'chief of refreshments' justice (he even had a badge; his dad had made a production out of pining it to his shirt and making him swear to not filch any of the beer), but the truth was that he was sporting a boner so painfully hard it could probably cut steel.

He was very thankful for the surface blocking his nether regions. As he handed over another beer to Phil who looked like he was well on his way to a nap behind the shed (a yearly tradition) he chanced a look in Jordan's direction. He was sitting across the yard, talking to some of the younger deputies and looking ridiculously attractive. He caught Stiles looking and smiled lewdly. There really wasn’t another way of describing it.

Stiles blushed crimson and busied himself with pouring lemonade into a few more glasses ready to be handed out, but could feel eyes on him the entire time. And yes, Jordan was still looking his way. If he could only escape he would, but the sheriff seemed to have developed an uncanny sixth sense lately and had demanded Stiles hand over his phone before the guests had started to arrive.

“I understand you have a demanding _extracurricular schedule_ , son but it’s not too much to ask for one Sunday afternoon is it?” He’d asked with raised eyebrows and something akin to pleading. It really wasn’t and Stiles had handed it over without complaints. A decision he now regretted wholeheartedly. He desperately needed an extraction.

His eyes fell on Jordan again and a fresh wave of blood pooled south. _Was he really..?_ Yes, he really was. Christ, the guy was brazen that much was certain!

From the corner of his eyes Stiles watched in horrid fascination as Jordan moved his hand up and down the neck of his bottle in a very suggestive manner. He kept on talking casually with the other guys at his table, but glanced Stiles’ way every now and then. The meaning was not lost on him. One thing he was in danger of losing however was his mind! He needed to get out of there and fast.

Miraculously an opportunity presented itself soon thereafter in the form of his dad. Stiles had been very busy trying to will down his erection with increasingly horrid mental images of the Darach in a tutu while studiously not looking at Jordan and as a result failed to notice his dad approaching until suddenly he was just there, all smiles and perhaps a little bit on the tipsy side. There was no hard liquor on the premises however, so Stiles didn’t worry. This was a family gathering after all and his dad knew how to pace himself with beers. And it was nice to see him smiling like this. Genuinely and openly. Stiles missed that.

“We’re running a bit low on beers over by the grills,” he said while waving around a spatula. Grease drops were flying in all directions and Stiles gently plied them away from him. The sheriff chuckled and shrugged apologetically. Stiles plastered on a grin and took care to lean forward to hide all evidence of what was happening in his all too tight jeans.

“Oh, sure,” he said quickly. “Eh, I’m actually running low here as well.” He fished up the last six pack from the small tub filled with ice (reminding him painfully of a certain sacrifice, a memory he’d much rather forget) and put it on the counter.

“Well, there’s more in the garage. As chief of refreshments it’s your job to fetch some more.”

His dad clapped him jovially on the shoulder and swaggered off with the six-pack. The spatula lay behind forgotten.

Stiles didn’t waste any time. He half walked half sprinted out of the yard taking care to present their guests with his backside, rounded the corner and headed for the front door. He fell into the hall and scanned the pegs where they hung all the keys, and almost broke down crying when he realized the keys to his jeep were gone. Damn his dad was good!

He was tempted to just escape to his room and take care of business, but chances were that Jordan had seen him leave and would follow him inside. As much as Stiles would appreciate a helping hand, he certainly didn’t want to run the risk of his dad walking in on something like that. And he only had a small window of opportunity here – it was either escape the scene or tough it out in public.

And how hard could it possibly be to hotwire a car?

So, escape it was. Damn the concequences, he’d deal with his dad later. Heart thundering in his chest Stiles ran for the garage, wrenched open the side door and hit the lights. He scrambled to the jeep, opened the door as silently as possible (not very silent at all sadly, the hinges needed oiling, badly!) and stuck his head in perusing the ignition. According to movies, TV shows and freaking Jack Bauer it was all about flicking some wires together. The trouble was finding said wires. Stiles had no clue where to look and was contemplating just legging it down the street when he heard the distinct sound of a door being locked.

His blood froze, his heartbeat sped up and his well-honed flight instinct kicked in full force. He was clearly locked inside the garage, but the real question was whether he was alone or if someone was in there with him. He had a suspicion it might be the latter and an even better idea of who it might be.

The trouble of being right 99 % of the time was, well – all the times when you wished you were _wrong_.

Stiles was not wrong.

He closed the door to the jeep and heaved a great sigh. Okay, so Jordan had followed him in here. Jordan had locked the door. Jordan was also smiling very suggestively and edging forward with a sinful swagger that did nothing to quell the bulge in Stiles’ pants.

Damn him.

Damn his inability to hotwire cars.

Damn his damned dick.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” deputy Parrish asked with arched eyebrows while his eyes raked down his body. It lingered on his crotch area. Stiles blushed crimson and backed towards the old fridge that was stocked with beer and sodas.

“Ehm, just getting some more beverages for the party,” he stuttered. It ended in a string of colorful curses. He’d backed squarly into the old rusty wheelbarrow. It was sure to leave a bruise. The deputy tuttet.

“My my, such a filthy mouth. I wonder what else it can do.”

Stiles’ mouth could do all kinds of things, most notably talk a lot. This time however he was all out of words. His mouth dropped open and he just knew he was gaping stupidly.

“My dad expects me back right away. You can help me carry this stuff,” he muttered shakily.

He turned and made a grab for the fridge handle, but Jordan was faster. Yelping pathetically and with limbs flailing in all directions, Stiles soon found himself pinned against the Jeep. Jordan was surprisingly strong. Not werewolf strong, but strong none the less. Stiles whimpered. Apparently that was a turn-on.

“I’ve been watching you, Stiles,” purred Jordan as he edged his hands down, down, down Stiles’ body. He pushed aside the flannel shirt and it pooled to the floor. One finger raked a nail over a nipple. Stiles groaned and felt his feet give slightly.

“God, your nipples are so sensitive,” murmured the deputy and grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Next Stiles felt a hot mouth engulf his already hard nub and he had to bite down on Jordan’s shoulder to keep from screaming. His tongue circled, teased and teeth nipped tantalizingly.

“We can’t do this here,” panted Stiles but was silenced when Jordan moved a finger to his lips and grinned up at him like the devil he clearly was.

“Shhhh, you just need to be quiet and no one will ever know.”

It was good advice, but not something Stiles felt confident he could live up to. Certainly not with Jordan already hard at work removing his belt.

“You’re crazy,” wheezed Stiles breathlessly. He was looking down and the sight almost made him come on the spot. Parrish’s pretty eyes were looking up at him through heavy eyelashes, his pupils blown wide. One hand had already discarded his belt (Stiles absentmindedly noticed it laying curled like a run-over snake on the cement floor) and the other was still on Stiles’ lips. He smiled lewdly and proceeded to lick a trail down his stomach, circling his belly button and dipping inside it. His eyes never left his.

What little self-control Stiles had went out the window. “Ah, fuck it,” he growled and engulfed Jordan’s finger with his lips, and proceeded to suck and lick at it with abandon. The reward was instantaneous and sweet as hell. Parrish growled and his mouth dipped down. His hands followed and soon Stiles felt his pants being tugged down and dear god, was he actually ¬ removing his boxers _with his teeth_?

“I’ve been thinking about sucking you off all afternoon,” breathed Jordan his nose buried in Stiles’ pubes, his hands roaming over thighs, ass, squeezing and teasing.

“Do you want me to?” He glanced up at Stiles who could little do but pant and nod furiously.

“I know you do,” smirked Jordan and licked at tip of his cock teasingly. “You’ve been rock hard all afternoon, haven’t you?”

“Just get on with it,” growled Stiles and let his head fall against the jeep. His feet were threatening to give out and he grabbed onto the side of his car as best as he could. He didn’t dare look down at Jordan again. He was dangerously close already and the sight of the deputy on his knees going down on him like a pro would only send him over the edge all too soon. It was crazy giving into this, but now that he’d succumbed Stiles sure wanted to get as much enjoyment out of it as possible.

And the sensation alone was almost more than he could bear. He whimpered pathetically when Jordan let go of his cock with a loud pop. His mouth was instantly replaced by his hands, and it was almost as good.

“You should see yourself,” taunted Jordan nosing at his balls and letting one hand slide teasingly between his legs edging slowly towards his ass.

“Shut up,” hissed Stiles and tugged at his hair. Jordan laughed throatily. “If anyone walks by and glances through the window in the door, they’ll see the sheriff’s son looking utterly debauched. You’d be the talk of the station.”

“So would you, you fucker,” snarled Stiles. It quickly morphed into a groan. Jordan had returned to his attempt at sucking Stiles’ soul out his dick. He was almost there, edging close to the what was shaping out to be an epic orgasm and spewing out curses that echoed on the bare walls of the garage. He vaguely registered a knocking sound somewhere far away.

“Someone’s yanking at the door,” whispered the deputy from below. It was a testament to his excellent blowjob-abilities that this piece of information didn’t even faze Stiles. The banging continued. In fact it was escalating. It almost sounded like someone was saying his name. It was all in all very annoying and very counterproductive to Stiles' enjoyment.

“Go away!” he yelled his voice breaking. “Stop trying to get it, this is private property!”

The banging stopped, Jordan squeezed his balls and then he was coming, coming coming. Through a haze he registered movements below and then he heard Parrish chuckle.

“Dude, I think that was Derek Hale.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he flailed uncoordinatly and promptly fell down, tripped up by the pants pooled by his ankles.

“What do you mean, _Derek Hale_? Was Derek here? Did he see us?”

Parrish was staring at him, his eyes still hooded and mouth swollen and spitsoaked. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw him clear as day so I’m guessing there’s a good chance he caught a glimpse. He won’t tell your dad, will he?”

Stiles was panicking and pulling at his pants. If Derek was here, surely something was afoot. The Fae had probably struck again. Damn, he never should’ve let his dad take his phone!

“I've got to go,” he babbled anxiously, scrambling to his feet. Parrish tittered gleefully, tugging at his arm and preventing him from getting up.

“What are you doing? I need to go.” Stiles was getting impatient, but Jordan was relentless. In fact he was using his considerable strength to pull Stiles down again, and the other hand was already snaking up his thigh.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured seductively and moved to kiss Stiles. “I’m not done with you yet.”

A warm tongue pushed inside his mouth, curling around his teeth, then teeth were nipping at his lower lip. Blood was already pooling south again. Stiles moaned feeling a mindmumbingly pleasant haze engulf him. The world was slipping away. Nothing mattered except Jordan. Surely Derek and the fae could wait a little bit? What good could he do anyway, lowly human that he was? Jordan however could do a world of good things to him.

“You’re going to go to your dad and tell him I had a bit too much to drink and you need to drive me home. Then you’re going to help me with this.” Parrish grabbed Stiles’ hand and moved it to his crotch. Stiles felt his mouth water.

"Yeah,” he mumbled between sloppy kisses. “Yeah, I can do that.”

All thoughts of Derek were as erased from his mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially this was just going to be a fun what-if story about Stiles realizing he was attracted to guys as well as girls because of deputy Parrish, but it has now morphed into something a bit more porny than I thought I had in me and with a smidge of plot as well. Thank you for sticking with it so far - hopefully I'll get to update it within a week or so.  
> And for those of you wondering - Sterek is endgame :)


	4. Road Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is confused and apparantly all roads lead to the Preserve...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning - I have limited knowledge about fae and faeries. Most of what you'll find here is stuff i've made up and i regret nothing. Also I apologize if Parrish comes off as a total creeper - I adore canon!Parrish but this version is slightly dubious. But fret not - all will be explained.

Stiles woke up Monday morning with a slight headache and a niggling feeling he’d forgotten something.

It kept bugging him all through his shower, during the better than usual breakfast consisting of leftovers from the cookout and all the way to school. It hit him (or rather Scott did) as soon as he walked through the double doors heading for his locker.

“Dude!” yelled Stiles and Scott in perfect unison. Stiles because – _auch_! Scott hitting him fricking hurt - and Scott because – ? Well he didn’t really know why Scott was looking like he was caught between murderous rage and heartfelt concern. What he did know however was that it was not a becoming expression.

“Haven’t I told you this before? No maiming the human!” Stiles glared at Scott while massaging his sore shoulder. Scott didn’t even look a smidge of sorry. In fact he looked very, very angry. Scott was not often angry with Stiles and certainly not very, very angry. It did not bode well.

“Where the hell where you last night?” hissed Scott and dear god – was that a tinge of red in his eyes? Stiles blinked and shook his head slightly and yes, definitely red. Bright red in fact. Stiles wrinkled his forehead and bestowed his friend with his most bewildered frown.

“Scotty my friend, are you feeling alright? You know perfectly well it was my dad’s annual cookout yesterday. Lots of burgers and charred meat, yours truly stuck as lowly slave – or well, actually I was promoted to ‘chief of refreshments’. I even got a badge, but no need to get too excited. It sounds way cooler than it actually was. Basically lots of tipsy guys demanding chilled beer and kids on sugar highs wanting even more sugar. Not even a teeny bit glamorous.”

Scott’s eyes were still flickering alpha red and he looked like he wanted to brain himself on the lockers. Or perhaps he wanted to brain Stiles on the lockers. No matter, he looked uncharacteristically miffed.

“Dude, your eyes are glowing like freaking light sabers,” Stiles mumbled and nodded towards the nearest classroom. “You clearly have issues, so let’s take them away from the busy hallway, yeah?”

Scott growled under his breath but followed Stiles without protests. The classroom was thankfully empty (they usually were, at least when they needed them. Stiles sometimes wondered if the high school was slightly magical) and when he moved to close the door he found it blocked by –

He should’ve anticipated it. That was definitely Lydia’s shoe.

“You’re worse than Jehovah’s Witnesses, do you know that?” he informed her dryly as she slithered into the room, hair in an intricate doo as always and lips pursed in a less than happy pout. “They’re excellent door stoppers as well, or so rumor has it.”

“Drop the sarcasm, Stilinski,” she snarled and whirled around so fast her bag clogged him in the ribs.

“Dear Lord,” he wheezed doubling over in agony. “Are you carrying around bricks and batteries in that thing? This isn’t prison you know? Are you going to shank me next?”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Lydia icily leaning coolly against the teacher’s desk. “It’s only my advanced physics books, and if I wanted to hurt you, I would get so creative you’d never see it coming.”

Stiles groaned. “Duly noted. Now would you mind filling me in on why Scott is about to Alpha out on me and why you are giving me both physical and mental bruises?”

Scott was still growling slightly but seemed to be getting back to normal. His eyes were no longer blinking red at any rate, so yay - progress. “Where were you last night?” he repeated and Stiles flailed in frustration.

“Oh my God, Scott!! I just told you – _cookout_. It’s a yearly thing. Sometimes you even participate. I thought you had enhanced hearing? Is something clogging your ears?”

Lydia harrumphed. Stiles scowled. Scott was back to red eyes.

Lovely. His friends were clearly losing their marbles. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with, what with freaky faes and this whole Parrish-situation.

Apropos Parrish…

Stiles wrung his hands nervously. He had a vague feeling there was something he’d forgotten about him. Oh well, never mind. There was plenty of time to ponder that during chemistry (they still hadn’t gotten around to replacing Harris and it was now just an endless circle of progressively worse and worse substitutes. California seriously lacked able-bodied teachers, that much was clear. Or Beacon Hills had perhaps earned a bit of a reputation of killing off its teachers. Come to think of it that was probably it). But right now Lydia was clearly talking to him and he wasn’t even paying a little bit of attention. He should rectify that.

“What did you say?” Lydia pursed her lips.

“Stiles,” she said slowly taking care to enunciate every syllable, “we’re well aware of the cookout. You’ve talked about it excessively for weeks. What we’re wondering is not what you did during the day and afternoon, but rather where you were _last night_ – when we tried to get you to come and help with the rabid fae situation.”

Stiles stared. What on earth was she on about? Lydia rolled her eyes and turned to Scott.

“He looks confused. Why does he look confused? He’s your friend. Is this a normal thing?”

Scott shrugged. “He’s your friend too. And most of the time he confuses me, so I’m not sure what to think.”

“Hello! Stiles is right here!” He flailed his hands around like a windmill. “Explain please?”

Scott was growling again, but managed to churn out partially understandable sentences. “We tried calling you, like a billion times. We sent you endless amounts of texts.” Stiles shrugged helplessly.

“Sorry, but dad confiscated my phone. He pulled out the puppy look and almost begged me to put him first and BHSS second. Actually, I think he might still have it. I can’t remember getting it back.”

He patted his pockets and would you look at that? His phone was there. Strange.

“ _BHSS_?” Scott looked confused. Lydia looked bored.

“Huh? Oh yeah, Beacon Hills’ Supernatural Squad. I thought we could use a cool acronym. Like S.H.E.I.L.D.” He was thumbing through his missed call list. Lydia was muttering something about dorks and nerds.

“Scott, seriously? 76 missed calls! If it was that important you should’ve just come by to get me.” Scott threw his hands up in frustration and both Stiles and Lydia took a cautious step back when they noticed the claws were out.

“That’s just it! We did – or rather _Derek did_. He said he’d pop by on his way over. He came back without you looking absolutely livid. He actually put a dent in his Toyota banging his fist into the door. We tried to get him to tell us what was up and why you weren’t with him. He fed us this lame story about you needing to clean out the garage.”

Scott glared at Stiles and he shrank back. Scott was mostly made up of sunshine, daisies and unicorns, but he could get angry like a panther when pushed too far. He was seldom angry at Stiles though, and he couldn’t help but back away slowly. Lydia grabbed his arm and spun him towards her. She looked equally murderous, but that was more or less her default setting and it didn’t scare him half as much. Her nails however were every bit as painful as Scott’s.

“I don’t have werewolf senses and can’t hear heartbeats, but even I could tell that Derek was lying through his teeth. I mean honestly – _cleaning out the garage_? You’ve never turned down a supernatural adventure in your life, and you’d never let some stupid chore get in the way. So spill!”

Stiles had backed all the way into the blackboard and his eyes flickered from Scott to Lydia and back again. He couldn’t remember anything about Derek coming by, and nothing about the garage. They did store the beer and sodas there, so he’d been by there a couple of times yesterday to replenish his makeshift bar, but other than that… had he dropped some of the bottles there? Had his dad gotten mad and made him clean it up? It sounded like something he could’ve done because hello – flailing limbs! But still…

Come to think of it - _what had he done last night_?

His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the classroom banged open nearly ripping it from its hinges. Isaac fell into the room followed closely by Allison. Isaac’ eyes were burning yellow and Allison had one of her many Chinese ring daggers at the ready.

“I heard Scott growling,” snarled Isaac his teeth elongating by the second. “What’s happening?”

He stepped fully into to the room and Allison shut the door behind them. Isaac’ face went from snarling beast to repulsed dumbass in less than a second.

“Dear lord, what is that pungent smell?” he gasped out and hid his nose in the crook of his elbow. Gagging noises could be heard and soon Scott was sniffing the air as well turning in all directions. His eyes suddenly widened comically and he spun around glaring once again at Stiles. Isaac was glowering in his direction too, his mouth curled in something akin to a smirk. Not a good sign.

“Hey, what’s with the glares of doom? I showered this morning, swear to god.”

“You still stink though,” sneered Isaac while opening a window and making a production out of breathing in fresh air. The guy was no comedian thought Stiles sourly.

“Of what?” asked Stiles tiredly with an exaggerated eye roll. Honestly, what was the point of Isaac? And would it be possible to strangle him with his scarf?

“Sex,” hissed Scott. “You smell like sex.”

“He _reeks_ of sex, actually,” corrected Isaac.

Lydia and Allison were regarding him with renewed interest. Stiles was wondering when his life had turned into this melodrama where either he was suffering from selective amnesia where he forgot about having sex (not bloody likely) or his friends were idiots, lying liars that lied or alternatively suffered from werewolf scent deficiency. It could totally be a thing.

“I think I’d know if I had sex last night,” scoffed Stiles. “I don’t have all that many experiences with it, but it was quite memorable last time, so.” He shrugged, shook his head and fell into a nearby chair nearly knocking over the table. Yeah, he was no gazelle, he admitted that much.

Lydia was biting her lower lip, her arms crossed in front and one hip cocked to the side. It was her pondering pose. As poses went it was quite pleasing on the eye.

“Tell me,” she began silkily, “wasn’t your little _deputy friend_ there at the cookout?”

Stiles nodded and promptly blushed. “Oh yes, he was there, making my day hard – _literally_.” Scott covered his ears and groaned. Allison tried to hide a grin.

“Did you by any chance take him with you to the garage, to _help you out_ ,” asked Lydia pointedly?

“Lydia!” said Stiles scandalized. “You’ve got a dirty mind. Of course I didn’t. My dad was right there! In fact the entire precinct and their families were there. That would’ve been quite…”

All of a sudden images were flashing before his eyes. Broken, distorted images. Images that made him want to die of embarrassment. Images that made him just the tiniest bit horny. Stiles was a very, _very_ naughty boy.

“Oh my god,” he said faintly and sagged down hiding his face in his arms. “Oh my freaking God!”

“You’ve remembered something?” Allison sounded just a tad too eager but Stiles could little do but nod. “I think so, just give me a second.”

He’d gone to get more drinks. He was going to escape because Jordan was being impossible with the bottle jerking and the sexy eyes, but his keys were gone and – yes there it was. He’d been locked in and Jordan had…

“Oh my god, I absolutely did have sex,” he blurted out. “He’d been torturing me all afternoon and I was trying to escape by hotwiring the Jeep –“

“You know how to hotwire a car?” interrupted Scott half in awe, but yelped when Allison hit his arm (though not with the dagger).

“Not important right now,” she hissed. Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but Lydia and Isaac were glaring as well and he shook his head and shut his mouth.

“Please continue,” said Allison soothingly. Stiles arched an eyebrow, conveying that he could see right through her little act. Allison grinned and shrugged unapologetically. Stiles was going to have some fun with that later, oh yes he was.

“I do in fact _not_ know how to hotwire a car, but I was kind of desperate to get away, but he caught up with me and locked us in the garage.” He waved his hands around hoping to convey everything without actually saying anything.

“He didn’t force you did he,” asked Isaac looking faintly sick. Stiles shook his head.

“No, can’t say that he did. I was doing my best not to think about that, and certainly wouldn’t have initiated anything – because hello under aged kid with sheriff dad and deputy–that is not a good combo. But he didn’t have to twist my arm or anything.”

“So you didn’t clean the garage – you _got cleaned_ in the garage?” asked Isaac with eyebrows that had completely disappeared into his curly mop of hair.

“That’s the worst description ever,” said Stiles with a grimace. “But yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Well,” mused Lydia with a tinge of evil to her eyes. “That explains Derek’s murderous manner.”

“WHAT?! Derek saw that??”

Stiles spasmed out of the chair and toppled over. He landed painfully on the desk behind. He was going to have fresh bruises, but what else was new?

“Probably,” said Lydia. “But what concerns me is that you hardly remember this at all. And what else did you do last night? I can’t imagine you spent hours in the garage? Surely your dad would’ve noticed that.”

Stiles combed his brain, but couldn’t remember anything. In fact he couldn’t even remember leaving the garage or getting to bed last night either.

“We called you time and time again. The last time I tried was around midnight.”

A cold wave of fear washed over Stiles and he felt the edge of a panic attack building. He needed air!

“I gotta get out of here,” he wheezed and apparently they all picked up on the urgency because they helped drag/carry him out the side entrance and all the way to the empty lacrosse field.

“Hold your breath,” urged Lydia the whole way. “Don’t make me kiss you again.” Stiles gasped and laughed, and in the end he felt control slipping back to him.

“What’s happening to me?” he asked faintly. Four anxious faces stared back at him, worried and confused.

“I don’t know yet,” murmured Lydia and patted his hand. “But we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

***

In all the hoopla concerning Stiles’ selective sex amnesia the fae situation had been pushed to the side, but by lunch he was fully up to speed. Apparently the patrols around the Nemeton (a necessity because supernatural powerful beacon – clearly of interest to all supernatural beings) had been fruitful. Aiden had called Scott to report that he’d found heaps of animal carcasses piled on top of the old trunk. It was literally dripping with blood, and worse of all – most of the dead animals were dogs. Scott had later found out that most of them had been reported missing the last couple of days. Deaton had a notice board at his reception where animal owners could put up missing posters and a good few of them were there.

So now they were dealing with some sort of Fae that was clearly sacrificing animals to the Nemeton while something was afoot causing Stiles to fall into sex amnesia. If that wasn’t a clusterfuck of epic proportions then Stiles would eat his Jeep. (Not really but the point still stands).

He was itching to dive into the latest bestiary he’d gotten hold of from one of his more obscure internet contacts, and what better place to do so than during chemistry where hopefully old Mrs. Swanson would assign them yet another coma-indusing chapter to read and promptly immense herself in her knitting. But alas, luck was not on Stiles’ side lately.

Instead of plump little Mrs. Swanson they were shocked to see a figure bearing a striking resemblance to Professor McGonagall looming by the blackboard when they piled in, and as the lesson progressed they experienced that she was unfortunately every bit as strict as well.

She dived straight into a complex string of chemical symbols that left everyone reeling with the exeption of Lydia who looked like Christmas had come early and brought along her birthday. By mid class Stiles was on the verge of ripping out his hair and contemplated screwing the chemicals up deliberately in hope of sustaining a minor injury and a trip to the nurse’s office. What was a minor acid wound in the grand scheme of things anyway?

But he had no sooner considered the thought before Mrs. ScaryFreak was looming over him reminding him eerily of Mr. Harris at his worst.

“Mr. Stilinski,” she said dislike dripping from every word. “Unless you want to poison us all, I suggest you reread the instructions. If you are in fact capable of such mundane tasks.”

Stiles repressed the urge to snark, mainly because Scott was pinching his thigh and shaking his head. They did not need detention right now on top of everything else!

They made it out of class relatively unscathed but it was a close thing. Stiles found himself longing for the days of Harris and was entertaining the thought of checking if the guy had a long lost twin sister, possibly more evil than him. If so he suspected they'd found her.

But the substitute was quickly forgotten and they gathered at Lydia’s house after school (her mom was out of town again. Stiles had no clue what she did for a living, but apparently it paid well), and by night fall they’d made a bit more headway into categorizing the different kinds of fae. But none of them seemed inclined to bleed out dogs on tree stumps, so they needed more to go on.

It was Allison that brought up the topic of Jordan again.

“Stiles,” she said with false sweetness. Stiles felt the hairs on his back rise and he shuddered. Argents were creepy as all hell when they tried too hard to be sweet.

“Sweet savior, what now?” he asked faintly. Lydia kicked him in the shin.

“This might be a crazy idea, but have you considered that Jordan might be…“ She trailed off, hesitated, swallowed and continued. “That he could be some sort of fae?”

And there it was.

Of course Stiles had considered that. Ever since his minor panic attack that morning, it was all he could think about. It made sense –or no, _sense_ was not the right turn of phrase. There was really no reason to bring sense into anything that went down in Beacon Hills. It would however explain a lot. Yes that was better. It would explain why Stiles couldn’t remember much of last night. Come to think of it he couldn’t remember all the things that went down after they left Jungle either that first night. Just bits and pieces, but enough to make him blush and get things stirring down below. But at the time he’d blamed the booze of which there had been copious amounts. Now however – that explanation was so not holding up to scrutiny, because he hadn't as much as dared _smell_ the beers he'd been serving.

He sighed deeply, rubbed at his face and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking that myself.”

“Of course,” said Lydia breathlessly. “Some sort of Incubus I’d say given that he seems to be using sex as a way of pacifying you.”

Scott looked nauseated. Stiles _felt_ nauseated. He swallowed down a lump of bile. Suddenly he felt very dirty, unclean. Used. And very stupid, weak and gullible. Of course it would go after the only (former) virgin of the bunch. That figures. But why?

“I don’t get why, though,” he mumbled, twirling the pen absentmindedly; chewing on the end.

“Maybe you’re just the first one? He could be planning to weaken us one by one? We are the guardians of the Nemeton after all, he probably want us gone so that he can get at the power or something?” suggested Scott. Stiles shrugged. It was a good a theory as any.

“We should be keeping an eye on him,” said Allison. “See if we can catch him in the act.”

“And risk ending up like Stilinski here – _a sex slave_?” asked Isaac looking faintly ill.

“I resent that! I wasn’t a slave of any kind. He might possess some magical sex pollen or whatnot that weakens my will, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s _hot as hell_ and I’d want to climb that like a tree anyway given the chance. If he wasn’t my dad’s deputy, that is.”

Isaac gagged. Lydia nodded.

“Stiles is right. He’s hot. I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“Oh lord, I’m surrounded by sex addicts,” complained Scott and Allison snorted. “You’re hardly one to talk, McCall. And Lydia, don’t let Aiden hear you say that or he’ll rip him to bits.”

“Speaking of,” said Stiles smiling wickedly. “Let’s get the murder twins to trail Jordan. If he kills them it’s no great loss.”

“You’re awful,” admonished Lydia with a huff. Stiles waved her off.

“ _They’re awful_. I regret nothing.”

“Should we maybe swing by Derek’s loft and bring him up to date?” asked Scott and Stiles felt his stomach drop uncomfortably out of his body and land with a splat on the floor.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” he said oozing false cheerfulness, gathering books and papers into an untidy heap and shoving in his backpack. “Forgive me for skipping out on a visit to someone who may or may not have seen me in the throes of passion last night.”

“Oh, _he saw_ ,” nodded Isaac gleefully. “Did no one mention he put a dent in his Toyota?”

“Oh crap,” muttered Stiles darkly heading for the door. “Maybe something good can come out of it. Let’s pray he gets rid of the soccer mom car. The Camaro was so much more badass.”

Isaac’s upper lip was curling in that stupid smirky way that Stiles knew meant snark and sass was about to be spilled. Stiles was so very not in the mood.

“You can save the ‘wanna be bent over the hood of a Camaro’ jokes, Lahey. No one wants to hear them.”

“Don’t slam the – “ yelled Lydia, but Stiles was for once two steps ahead of her, the door blocking all sounds of his annoying friends. He stormed towards his Jeep and climbed gracelessly into the driver’s seat just as a text ticked in. He snorted when he saw it was from Lydia.

_Don’t ever slam the door in my face again! And I’ve gagged Isaac with his scarf. You’re welcome._

He laughed loudly as the engine roar to life. Lydia truly was a gift to the gods.

***

Stiles were miles away, deep in his head contemplating half assed theories about sexy faes and broody werewolves when he was rudely brought back to reality by flashing lights and wailing sirens. Cursing under his breath he checked the rearview mirror, and yes that was indeed one of the sheriff’s vehicles flagging him down.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled over and started banging his head repeatedly against the steering wheel. Either it was his dad ready to rip him a new one, because according to his friends he’d been MIA most of last night and surely the sheriff had noticed and would be far from amused - or – _even worse_ – it could be a possibly very dangerous incubus deputy. It was a lose-lose situation if he'd ever seen one.

He glanced in the mirror again, but it was too dark to see who it was. Which was odd because all the streets from Lydia’s house and to his were very well lit. What on earth was going on? Perhaps a blackout?

A quick scan of the nearby vicinity made his heart sink down to his intestines. There wasn’t a house to be seen – in fact it looked like he was on one of the almost deserted roads leading into the preserve. Nothing but trees and shrubbery as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far, because it was pitch black. The only thing he could see were the still flashing lights.

A knock to the window startled him into one of his patented arm flails. Heart thundering in his chest he glanced up and saw –

Why wasn’t he surprised? He was definitely screwed! Or about _to be screwed_ … He felt equal parts scared and aroused. Clearly he was not right in the head. They should look into that.

“Please step out of the vehicle, sir.”

Stiles wondered what higher deity he’d offended to land in this situation. There was another knock to the window.

“I repeat, step out of the vehicle with your hands held high.”

Stiles groaned, rolled his eyes and opened the still squeaking door. “ _Sir? Vehicle?_ What’s with the formal cop talk? And why are you pulling me over? Did I speed? Did - ?”

His sentence was cut short when he was rudely yanked out of the car and manhandled against the jeep.

“I said ‘ _with your hands held high_ ’” hissed a voice in his ear, and Stiles suppressed a shudder. A split second later his hands were yanked onto his back and something cold clicked around first one and then another wrist.

“Handcuffs? Seriously?”

He was answered with a smack to his bum that quite frankly stung, but then the figure was crowding in on him again, pinning his front to the car and a skillful hand rubbed his sensitive and aching butt cheek. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

“You’ve been a very naught boy, Stiles,” murmured Parrish as his hand traveled slowly, unbearably slowly from his ass and to his front. He nuzzled his neck, licked a trail from his collar bone and up towards his ear, his breath ghosting over the sensitive area leaving Stiles a shivering mess. In the back of his mind a voice sounding scarily like Lydia was screaming for him to snap out of it. To get away as soon as possible, but his body was not cooperating. It wasn’t like being sexually worshipped by a hot deputy was a hardship. Though it did make him hard. Painfully hard in fact, and he couldn’t help but buck against the jeep hoping to create some kind of friction.

“Are you resisting arrest?” purred Jordan and yanked at the handcuffs making him huff out a breath as his face was pressed down on the cold metal of his car. Stiles whimpered.

“Are you arresting me? Why?”

Parrish laughed throatily and if it wasn’t so damn sexy Stiles would be scared right now. His head was telling him being pinned down by a potentially dangerous, dog murdering fae was not a good thing but his aching member were telling him a whole other story. It was a story filled with promises of mind-blowing orgasms. It was a good story and Stiles’ big brain quickly lost out to his downstairs brain.

“I’m arresting you for indecent exposure,” crooned Deputy Parrish as he sucked down on a particular sensitive spot on Stiles’ neck.

“Oh sweet lord,” wheezed Stiles. “God that feels good. But, oh my yeah, eh – I mean I haven’t exposed myself indecently… have I?”

“Not yet,” murmured Parrish. “We need to rectify that.”

With surprising strength Stiles was spun around, his hands still secured by handcuffs. Jordan pushed him against the car and he had hardly time to comprehend what was going on before the deputy had made quick work of his belt and buttons and Stiles watched wide eyed and shocked as he yanked his jeans and underwear down.

“Oh my god, are you _insane_?”

Stiles was gawking. He was naked from the waist down on the side of a road! It was like a scene from a bad porno except this was actually his life! Parrish didn’t answer. He was busy removing his shoes and yes – there went his pants!

“You didn’t have to throw them into the woods” he mumbled incoherently but Jordan didn’t answer. He simply got to his feet and stared at Stiles with such hunger and intensity, eyes blown wide and his mouth plump and inviting.

“Spread them,” he commanded and when Stiles didn’t respond he promptly kicked his feet wider apart. Stiles blushed deep red, embarrassment blending with arousal. He was so very exposed, and it was half scary as fuck and yet equally arousing.

“This is insane,” he repeated weakly. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not like this. Not _here_. Jordan, please stop it.”

The deputy studied him from below heavy eyelashes, but didn’t respond. He stepped closer. Closer. And then kneeled on the dirt road, blowing hot breaths over Stiles’ private parts.

“Jordan, eh this is sexy and all, but we’re in public. Someone could drive by. As much as I kind of want to do this, I really don’t want to do this here.” Parrish looked up at Stiles, blinked a couple of times as if he was slightly confused. “Please?” repeated Stiles pleadingly and something like confusion ghosted over Jordan’s face. “Oh,” he said faintly looking from Stiles to Stiles junior and up again, eyes widening comically.

Then several things happened at once.

Parrish staggered to his feet looking almost drunk just as Stiles registered the sound of an oncoming car. With limited options there was little else he could do other than twirl around to hide his nether region and pray whoever was driving by was blessed with poor eyesight.

He heard Parrish curse and then the car seemed to accelerate and – _what the hell_?

Parrish yelled out; then came a thud and the sound of something hitting the ground. The car skidded to a halt, brakes screeching. Stiles whirled around all thoughts of decency long forgotten – and got the shock of a lifetime.

“Oh my god!”

Parrish was in a heap on the ground and out of the speeding car stepped –

“ _Derek_?”

This was it. This was the end.

Stiles curled in on himself, both because he was feeling slightly lightheaded and a bit nauseous but also because _Derek Hale_ was right there and Stiles was buck naked. He stared in horror from the lump that was Jordan to Derek who was wearing his grimmest frown and looking every bit the part of an apex predator. He poked at the deputy with his foot – none too gently Stiles noted, but Parrish didn’t move.

“Oh my god, did you kill him? Of course you did!”

Stiles felt his breath catch and suddenly oxygen was hard to come by. “You killed a deputy and I’m probably an accessory to murder and dear lord, I’m gonna go to jail. Unless we bury the body. Can we do that? Do you have a shovel?”

Derek scoffed and circled Jordan viciously. He didn’t as much as glance in Stiles’ direction. “He’s not dead,” he grumbled tonelessly. “I just whacked him with the car door. He’s passed out.”

Stiles spluttered. “What? You _whacked him_ -? Who does that? You seriously whacked him with your car door? OH MY GOD!”

Derek shrugged and poked at Jordan again almost as if he was something nasty that he really didn’t want to touch at all if given the choice. “The door was dented anyway,” he said matter-of-factly and Stiles flailed just the tiniest bit. Okay – he flailed a lot. Derek crouched down and began patting the unconscious deputy down.

“What are you doing?” asked Stiles faintly.

“Getting these,” said Derek and stood up, a key chain dinging from his fingers. He stomped over to Stiles who was still crouching down to hide – _things_ , and promptly unlocked the handcuffs. His hands sprung free and sweet Jesus it was the best thing since sliced bread. He dived into the shrubbery for his pants, stepping into them with no grace whatsoever. Buttoning up his jeans Stiles chanced a look at Derek who was still ignoring him in favor of glaring venomously at the human lump.

“You sure he’s not dead?” he asked again and Derek just growled. Stiles threw his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. Just checking. What are you doing here by the way? This is nowhere near your loft.” He spun around, eyes squinting. “Where are we anyway? Is this on the way to your old house?”

Something flashed blue and for a second Stiles thought it was another sheriff’s car. Then he realized it was Derek’s eyes.

“Hey buddy, control the wolf alright!” He backed away cautiously to be on the safe side. Derek was clenching his teeth but thankfully there were no fangs in sight.

“I’ve been following you,” mumbled Derek. “And a good thing too I might add – you don’t even know where you are? You were driving the car, Stiles! How can you drive and not know where you’re heading?”

Stiles bristled, feeling his blood boiling slightly. He hated when Derek got all high and mighty like this. Yes, Stiles might have got himself tangled up in a bit of a mess, but there was no need to talk to him like toddler!

“For your information I was doing some very intricate thinking, just not about where I was going. But never mind that - you’ve been following me around? _All day?_ ”

Derek gave the barest of shrugs, crossed his arms defensively across his chest and just glared.

“Oh my god, you’re impossible!” Stiles was pacing up and down the side of his Jeep, pulling at his hair and waving his arms around stupidly. “Why would you do that? And why has no one informed me of this? Surely the other wolves must have known that? Bastards!”

He kicked at some small stones, scattering them every which way. A loud clanging informed them that some had hit Derek’s car.

“Did you just hit my car?” growled Derek his eyebrows moving together menacingly almost creating a uni-brow of doom. Stiles had long since stopped being intimidated by it. Fascinated – yes. Scared – no.

“Oh give it a rest, the door is dented anyway. Besides, you’re ignoring the question. _Why – Are – You - Following – me_?”

“Because I think you’re under some stupid fae spell, alright,” barked Derek. “I was worried about you.”

He looked startled as if he’d surprised himself by the admission. Stiles was at a loss for words himself. Now it was Derek who were shuffling his feet and kicking at the dirt, head bowed down low. He suddenly looked years younger. Stiles felt an urge to comfort him, but didn’t dare.

“And no,” muttered Derek almost inaudibly, “the others have no clue I’ve been on your tail all day. Some of them might be wolves, but they’re a long way from utilizing their senses to their maximum potential.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Oh, if you ask me they use them too much already. Don’t let them get any ideas.”

They both lapsed into silence. Derek continued moving dirt around and Stiles tried to get his brain working again. This was a hot mess of a situation and they needed some sort of plan. A moan broke the silence and Stiles startled. Parrish was starting to come to.

“What do we do now?” he asked in a shrill whisper. Derek glowered at the deputy with something akin to pure hatred.

“We should tie him up,” he answered. “There’s rope in my trunk.”

“Of course there is,” muttered Stiles but he retrieved it without further ado and watched in fascination as Derek yanked Parrish into an a sitting position with his back against the Jeep and expertly tied up his arms and legs.

“So, I gather you share our suspicion that he might be fae?” Stiles avoided looking at Derek but more felt than saw him nodding grimly.

“It seems plausible,” agreed Derek, his voice oddly flat. “Especially considering his – _influence_ – over you.”

“Oh fuck, oh crap - my head hurts.”

They both took a tentative step away from the Jeep and glared down on the deputy that was shaking his head slightly, gradually coming to.

“Stiles?” he croaked hoarsely. “Am I tied up?” He moved helplessly and almost toppled over as a result. “Okay, so I’m tied up. Why though? What’s going on? What are you even doing here? Or rather what am I doing here?” He glanced blearily up and his eyes moved from Stiles to Derek and back again. “Why is Derek Hale glaring at me?”

“ _What_ are you?” growled Derek and took a menacing step forward. Parrish pressed his body back instinctively. “What do you mean what am I? I’m a sheriff’s deputy.”

Derek turned to Stiles a flick of blue to his eyes. “Is he being difficult and obtuse on purpose?”

Stiles shrugged helplessly. “How would I know?”

“You’ve spent more time with him than I have. Didn’t you talk at all? Or was it just _sex_?”

“Oh my god!” cried Stiles, “did you just ask me about my sex life? Is this my life?”

"Eh excuse me," interrupted Parrish weakly. “Why is Derek Hale here? And did he just hit me with his car?”

“SHUT UP!” barked Stiles and Derek in perfect unison and Parrish rolled his eyes.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your little lover’s quarrel.”

Stiles spluttered. Derek looked murderous. “Can I kill him?” the werewolf snarled through clenched teeth.

“No!” Stiles pinned him with his most exasperated glare. “We’re not killing him. At least not until we know for sure that he’s the fae doing all the killing – and besides, if he is fae do we even know _how_ to kill him?”

“ _Fae_?” Parrish sounded bewildered. “Are you two on drugs? What the hell are you on about? That sounds like a girl’s name. I’m not a girl.”

Derek crouched down before him his face oddly blank. “First of all, _deputy_ – I found you on the side of the road with a minor stripped naked from the waist down and handcuffed – I wouldn’t get to cheeky if I were you. I doubt his sheriff dad would be too impressed by that. Also – I believe, very strongly in fact that you’re some sort of incubus who’s using your wily, sexually shady ways to corrupt Stiles for something nefarious.”

Parrish blinked owlishly at Derek, and then glanced over to Stiles. “I didn’t understand any of that. Expect the part about naked and handcuffed. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy that. Consent and all that.”

Derek growled. Stiles shivered. Parrish looked faint.

“I heard him telling you no. No means no. You should know better, being an officer of the law and all. But then again, you’re not really of this world are you?”

Parrish had gone pale. Stiles hoped it was out of fear and not head trauma or internal bleeding. He didn’t want a drive by accident gone murder on his conscience.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no idea what an incubus even is,” wailed Jordan desperately.

“I don’t believe him,” said Derek with finality.

“Is his heartbeat skipping? Can you tell he’s lying?” asked Stiles and Derek laughed mirthlessly.

“His heart is going a mile a minute – he’s scared, as he should be, so it’s hard to tell. But I just know it in my gut. How do we prove that he’s fae though?”

Stiles ran his hands through his head, pacing back and forth. “We’ve been categorizing faes for days on end, and there’s different methods to different kinds. But I don’t remember anything specific about incubuae - assuming he is one,” he added with a shrug.

“Oh he is,” snarled Derek. “How else do you explain the fact that you’ve been doing all kinds of – _things_ – with him.”

“Eh – because he’s hot?” offered Stiles. Derek whined like a wounded animal.

“Okay, stop with the feral growls, it’s freaking me out. I admit the details are sort of hazy which does imply some sort of spell or whatnot. Just give me a second…”

He wrung his hands together trying desperately to remember everything Lydia and he’d been working on lately.

“I’ve got it!” He did a silly little twirl and punched the air. “ _Iron_ – that’s the common denominator – it’s been listed as a defense against all the faes we’ve read up on so far.”

“Excellent.”

Derek threw a nasty look over his shoulder making Parrish shudder and then stalked towards his car. A moment later he was back with a car jack.

“Okay,” said Stiles faintly. “That is definitely made of iron. What’cha gonna do with it, there big guy?”

“This,” said Derek and unceremoniously  whacked Parrish over the head before he even had the time to let out a sound. Stiles scrunched his eyes, waiting for a flash of light, a lightning, a puff of smoke – _anything_ basically. He was disappointed when Jordan simple keeled over and slumped to the road in an inelegant lump.

“Well, that was disappointing,” he muttered. Derek looked stunned, standing above Jordan with the jack in one hand and a helpless expression on his face.

“Did your research say anything about how iron worked on a fae?” he asked tonelessly. Stiles shook his head.

“Not really. Although I was not expecting this.”

“I’ve never come across someone supernatural that simply passes out,” mumbled Derek. “I expected his glamor to disappear at the very least.”

Stiles took a step back, eyes widening comically. “GLAMOR? What do you mean _glamor_?”

Derek waved his hand around impatiently. “You know, the facade it puts up as part of seducing people. According to the stories my mom used to tell about faes, especially succubae and incubae were hideous creatures that took on an appearance that would help ensnare their victims.”

Stiles felt faint. He didn’t know that. But then again Lydia had been the one going over the details of those kinds of fae, and it sounded plausible (or as plausible as any of the supernatural crap that was his life sounded).

Derek approached Parrish slowly and once again none to gently poked at him with the car jack. All that happened was Jordan slumping even more awkwardly over on his side and groaning slightly. His face was still as handsome as ever though, no signs of glamors breaking even a little bit. He did however have a nasty bump on his head that was swelling by the second.

“Oh my god,” croaked Stiles.

Derek’s shoulders tensed and he stepped back, bestowing Stiles with a grim face that did nothing to calm his nerves. “I think he might be  _\- human_ ,” he mumbled almost inaudibly and Stiles slumped to the road, despair washing over him like a tsunami.

“Oh crap, Derek - _we’ve made a huge mistake_!”

 

***

Come find me [Tumblr](http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Lydia is amused, Stiles is frustrated, Derek is resigned, the Sheriff is wrong, Parrish is sedated, Scott is not there and Peter is creepy.

“Well,” said Lydia in that utterly bored tone that made Stiles grind his teeth in exasperation. “At least he’s still breathing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Martin for that utterly useless diagnosis,” snapped Stiles. He was pacing the lengths of Derek’s loft alternating between pulling at his hair and flailing his arms. Sometimes both at once. It hurt. A lot.

Lydia arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips but didn’t say anything else, which was kind of worrying. Like Stiles she seldom let an opportunity to spew sarcasm or condescending remarks go by. Her silence spoke volumes.

Derek was no help whatsoever slumped down in a threadbare chair Stiles could not remember seeing there before. He found it hard to believe that Derek had taken the time to go furniture shopping at all with all the shit that went down in this town, and if he had it was a testament to his crappy taste if this was what he’d picked out. He suspected thrift shops had been involved. Or Peter. Peter had a very warped sense of humor.

“There’s no need to get snippy,” Lydia admonished quietly and made a production out of rooting around in her sizeable tote bag. “You two geniuses landed yourself in this hot mess, and if you want my help I suggest you shut up and calm down. By the way, who did these knots?” She raked a perfectly manicured nail over an intricate loop of rope bound around Deputy Parrish’ wrists.

“That was me,” mumbled Derek without even looking up from his hands that was currently clutching at a cup of coffee. He'd been staring them more or less from the moment the entered the loft and had dumped the still unconscious Parrish on the bed in the corner. He was still out like a log.

“I’m impressed, Hale,” praised Lydia. “This is a perfectly executed Double Sheet bend knot. Utterly unnecessary of course, but beautifully tied nonetheless.”

“Oh my god, Lydia! _Seriously_? We have most likely assaulted an officer of the law and you’re praising Derek on his _knotmanship_? That is insane! I demand a bit of focus, please!”

“Did I not tell you to simmer down?” answered Lydia sharply and extracted the folder Stiles knew contained her Fae notes.

“Yes! You brought the notes! Gimme!” He clawed at the book but Lydia smacked away his fingers.

“Sit your ass down, Stilinski. I’m the one who’s gone over all the incubus info and I don’t need you to mess up my system.”

Sensing that she was edging dangerously close to her minimal level of patience Stiles reluctantly flopped down on the sofa across form Derek.

“It’s probably useless anyway,” he grumbled sulkily. “Grumpy here wacked sleeping beauty over there with solid iron and it didn’t even put a small crack his glamor. My dad is going to flay me alive. They took his badge when I stole the police transport. Imagine what they’ll do if his son is brought up on assault charges.”

Derek groused under his breath, but still didn’t look up from his hands. “What’s that, Derek?” asked Stiles harshly. “Don’t tell me you’re muttering things under your breath indicating that this is in any shape or form my entire fault, because I don’t remember asking you to follow me around, and I certainly didn’t ask you to butt into my butt business.”

“Butt business?!?" Derek's eyebrows had all but disappeared into his hair line. Stiles crossed his arms and glared. "Besides, I thought you were in danger!” said Derek darkly.

Stiles floundered around the sofa like a fish on land. “Well, turns out the only “ _danger_ ” I was in was that of an epic orgasm. So thanks a lot for that. _You owe me one, mister_!”

Derek’s body jolted slightly and he finally abandoned his attempt at glaring a hole in his hands and stared at Stiles incredulously. “I owe _you_ an _orgasm_?!!”

“Oh, this will be interesting,” murmured Lydia silkily and flipped another page. Stiles for his part was assaulted by a full body blush and threw his hands up in frustration.

“Lydia, shut it and get on with the Fae business. And Derek, seriously!? You know better than to take anything I say literally. It’s the principle of the thing – you cock-blocked me, admittedly with good intentions, but still you own me, but like a favor.”

Derek’s eyebrows went skyward and he seemed to be battling between mirth and something else – something darker. Annoyance perhaps? “Favor, huh? What kind of favor did you have in mind?”

Stiles froze. Was Derek Hale attempting humor with vaguely flirty undertones?

“I can think of one kind of favor Stiles wouldn’t object to,” supplied Lydia with another casual page flip and by all things holy he was going to kill her slowly and painfully with one of her nail files if she didn’t stop it with the thinly veiled hints about Stiles’ alleged desire to jump Derek’s bones. Honestly, where were they getting these ideas?

“Okay, moving on please! Lydia, please restrain yourself from further attempts at funny and stick to the facts.”

Derek was chewing on his lower lip and looked slightly amused the smug bastard. Stiles crossed his arms defiantly and did his best to adopt a calm and collected posture. It was a lost cause. Anyway it was time to get back on track and that meant fae -

Wait a minute!

“Lydia, you’re a banshee right?”

Stiles more felt than heard her roll her eyes. “Yes, I believe that’s been well established by now,” she answered sweetly. “Why?”

Stiles shrugged halfheartedly. “Isn’t it obvious? A banshee is basically a form of fae, right? So if he’s ‘your kind’ shouldn’t you be able to tell? Can’t you just poke him a little and see if he gives off some fae vibes or something? Pluck him like one of your whispering strings.”

She raised her gaze slowly from the binder and to Stiles looking every bit as fed up as his dad did on his worst ADHD days. “ _Pluck his strings_?” she asked archly.

Stiles flailed. “It was just a thought.”

Lydia exhaled deeply and slumped a little. “It’s actually not a bad idea. And I did try to sense him. I even poked him a little, but he’s not giving me anything. Which is a good thing. I’m not feeling any urge to scream which means he’s not dying at least, so no involuntary manslaughter charges in your imminent future.”

“Well I guess that’s something,” he muttered with a quick glance at Derek. He still looked somber and downtrodden. Stiles didn’t like it. He missed his grumpy face. Sad Derek was just all kinds of wrong.

“I have however reread all my notes,” continued Lydia breathlessly, “and there’s something important about fae glamors. While iron will stop them, slow them down and sometimes seriously hurt them, it’s not enough to kill them and certainly not to break their glamor.”

That got their attention.

“So, what you’re saying it’s still a possibility he’s fae?” asked Derek leaning forward with renewed interest. Lydia nodded.

“Yes. The only time fae breaks their glamor is when they’re feeding.”

Stiles jumped to his feet scrambling for his phone. “Alright, then we’re gonna feed him and we’re gonna do this now. I have to get back soon before my dad gets off shift and I’d like to know one way or the other whether I should be shopping for a lawyer or informing him that he has a fae breach in his office.”

“What are you doing,” asked Derek looking very confused. It was an adorable look Stiles noted. He looked like an oversized, fluffy bunny complete with bunny teeth and all.

“Ordering pizza. I know for a fact there’s nothing edible in that fridge of yours. The power’s not even plugged in so whatever's in there will probably attack us if we opened the door.”

Derek looked pained. Lydia was laughing.

“What?” He looked from one to the other.

“Hang up the phone, Stiles,” said Lydia.

“Why? Oh, hello? Hi this is Stiles Stilinski, I’d like to order – HEY!!! Give me my phone back!”

Derek had grabbed it and turned it off. “Not that kind of feeding, Stiles,” he said calmly and in 3 – 2 – 1….

“OH MY GOD, you mean - ?” Stiles waved his arms around in the general direction of Parrish.

“Yes, exactly,” Lydia supplied and handed him her notes. “An Incubus needs to feed to stay strong, but the real kicker is that they’re at their most vulnerable when they do. So if we want to find out if he’s fae, we need to observe him when he’s feeding, and their preferred nourishment is sexual in nature.”

Why did he always end up in crappy situations like this? Oh well, at least this was something! They could test it. Prove it…

“How do we wake him up?” Stiles inched closer to the bed where Jordan was lying still as a statue.

“What?! Are you insane?” Lydia snapped the folder closed and he could hear the clicks of her shoes crossing the wooden floor.

“Oh come on, Lydia! We need to clear this up, and it’s not like I haven’t done it before. Or I’m assuming I have… I guess that is why I don’t really remember all that much, right? I've been fae food. Oh god, this provides a whole new dimension to the term ‘eating me out’”

Something dark ghosted over Derek’s face and the cup of – by now – lukewarm coffee he’d been cradling for the past half hour was crushed into shards. Lydia looked about 100 % done.

“Stiles, _TMI_ – we do not need to know every thought that goes through your mind. Learn to filter, please.”

“I filter! Believe me,” said Stiles with a very elaborate head nod.

“In that case,” said Lydia drily, “I believe your mind is a scary place. Anyway - yes, they do drain the victim’s memories as well, but this isn’t a good idea, Stiles. What do we do if he is fae? We need a plan!”

“Screw the plan, I’m finding out once and for – WHAT THE HELL!!!”

His feet had left the ground. He was soaring through the air and – ouch – yes there it was. The wall. Why did people insist on jamming him against them so violently?

“Derek! Derek, let me go!”

There was a flash of blue and a growl and dear god, not this again!

“It’s our best option, man. Ouch, that really hurts. Can you please lower me to the floor at least?” Derek complied but didn’t let go.

“You’re not going to be Fae bait, Stiles,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Why not? I’m offering!”

Something blurred by his eyes and the next moment the whole wall shook as Derek smashed his fist into it making plaster rain down like off-season snowflakes.  
“No one is acting as bait!” murmured Derek threateningly. “It’s my loft – my rules, buddy. And that’s that.”

Someone cleared their throat pointedly and they both turned to see Lydia tapping her shoe impatiently and smirking almost evilly. Ah, who was he kidding? She was totally smirking evilly.

“If you’re done _playing_ , I’d like to inform you that there is another way. We just need to call Deaton for help.”

Derek let go of Stiles abruptly and he crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap. When he scrambled to his feet muttering curses under his breath and wondering if it would be too cruel to put wolfsbane in Derek’s underwear drawer, the man in question had already dialed the vet.

Lydia had gathered all her material and returned it to her tote bag. She cocked her head pensively. “You have no clue whatsoever, do you?”

Stiles grimaced. “That’s a bit harsh. I might have been fae whammied, but that could’ve happened to anyone. So it’s unfair to call me clueless. Just a bit off the mark?”

“You’re missing the mark entirely,” she said with an almost fond smile. “And I’m so utterly amused by it all that I’m not going to explain it to you. Seeing it unfold will be so much more entertaining.”

“You know half the time I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”

“That’s part of your charm,” she added with a pat to his shoulder. “Now drive me home.”

**

When Stiles arrived home he walked straight into his dad wearing his uniform and a tired expression.

“Oh, hi,” he said shiftily doing his best to avoid eye contact. “Did you just get off shift?”

The sheriff arched an eyebrow, scanned Stiles from top to toe and seemed to linger on his neck. A small smile played on his lips as he clipped his gun to the belt.

“Sort of, but I’m on my way back in. I just got a call that Parrish hasn’t shown up for his shift and we can’t get a hold of him, so I have to get back.” He scratched his head and sighed deeply. “It’s funny actually, because I talked to him earlier and he seemed fine, but I guess he’s probably come down with something. Or he’s just too damned hung-over. Didn’t you have to drive him home yesterday?”

Stiles cringed, turned away and made a production out of sifting through the pile of junk mail that had accumulated over the last week or so and that neither his dad nor he had bothered to throw out. He needed to hide the blush radiating off him and his face would give away too much. Guilt over Parrish who were MIA because of him and not to mention the very illicit affair they’d been involved in. Fae or not, his dad was unlikely to approve. And he certainly was no dummy and could usually spot a Stiles half-truth a mile away. The best cause of action would be a deflection. Stiles was rather adept at those.

“Yeah, I did, but frankly he didn’t seem all that wasted. Maybe he’s got food poisoning or something? I did notice you let Phil man the grill for a while there. You know he’s notorious for undercooking everything and he was pretty well on his way to one of his infamous “shed-naps” the last time I saw him. Didn’t we swear never to let him anywhere near the cooking process after the incident of ’09?”

His dad nodded and pinned the badge to his shirt. “You’re right. That’s probably it. Poor guy. I’ll have someone drop by his place tomorrow morning to check on him. Now, what about you? What have you been up to all night?”

Stiles shrugged and edged past him towards the kitchen. “Oh you know, nothing much. Mostly working with Lydia trying to find out more about this Fae stuff.”

His dad arched an eyebrow and god lord – was he smirking. He was! Why was he smirking?

“ _Studying_ , huh?” he asked pointedly.

Stiles grimaced. “More like research, but same difference I guess.”

The sheriff chuckled and headed for the front door. “Well, it certainly looks like Lydia’s _researched_ your neck pretty thoroughly, son. Have a good night, and I’m far too young and pretty to be a grandfather yet, so please tell me you’re covered? _Literally_.”

Stiles was gaping. _Neck? Lydia? Grandfather? What the hell?_

“Also you should put some aloe vera on that,” his dad supplied helpfully and cackled loudly as he closed the door behind him.

Stiles rushed to the mirror in the hall – and BY ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!!! He stared incuriously at his neck and no wonder his dad had noticed. Frankly he had to be blind not to.

“Damn you Parrish,” he muttered under his breath as he stomped up the stairs. There was only one thing to do, and Isaac was never going to let it go.

_Need 2 borrow 1 of your stupid scarfs. Bring 2 school 2morrow!_

A moment later a beep informed him Isaac had messaged him back. Stiles hit delete without reading it.

**

  
An hour later it was clear to him that he was not going to fall asleep.

The house was too quiet and his mind too loud. Thoughts of Parrish knocked out and tied up, what to tell his dad the next day when Parrish was still unaccounted for and a feeling of general helplessness was battling for dominance in his head and on the unlikely account he should manage to fall asleep it would only lead to nightmares anyway.

It wasn’t really a conscious decision.

At one point he just got out of bed, pulled on some sweatpants and a hoodie, grabbed his keys and drove off. It wasn’t until he was parked outside of Derek’s building that he realized this was in all likelihood a very stupid idea.

Stiles was prone to stupid ideas.

Derek was probably asleep anyway, and who knew what Deaton had come up with. But even though logic told him to turn around and head home, Stiles still found himself outside the loft door minutes later. The key slipped in effortlessly. The door however opened with considerable more effort and he swore silently as he squeezed in and shut it behind him with a soft thud. He spun around and –

“Oh my god!”

Stiles stared straight into a set of intense blue eyes glowing in the dark. For the umpteenth time he cursed werewolf stealth and the fact that he possessed none at all.

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” breathed Stiles and took a step back, because hello – personal space.

“Stiles,” growled Derek and in the dark it was impossible to know if he was annoyed, angry or both.

“Hey,” said Stiles stupidly and did a little spastic salute that might have been cute on a five year old.

“ _Key_ ,” said Derek matter of fact and Stiles jingled his keychain.

“Yeah, eh, you know. I had one made, so…” He shrugged and trailed off, not even trying to explain it away.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” muttered Derek with evident dejection in his voice. The blue glow had left his eyes and all Stiles could see was the vague outline of his body against the huge windows.  
“It _scares_ me. But it doesn’t surprise me. But more importantly, why are you here?”

Stiles shuffled his feet and grimaced. Why indeed?

“I couldn’t sleep I guess. And I couldn’t stop thinking about this mess with Parrish and it felt wrong sort of to just let you deal with it. It’s as much my fault really. Where is he by the way?”

Derek made a non-comitial sound and gestured towards the bed. “He’s still out. Deaton came by and took some blood samples and other emissary stuff that I’m clueless about. He said he’d know more tomorrow. He hooked him up on some sort of sedative so he should be out for a while.”

“Oh,” said Stiles dumbly squinting in the direction of the bed and yes, he could vaguely make out some sort of IV drip setup.

They plunged into silence.

Stiles didn’t know what to do now. The Parrish situation seemed to be under control for the night, Derek sounded sleepy and probably wanted to get back to bed. He should go home, but the thought made him physically uncomfortable.

“Well, eh, in that case, I guess I should probably, you know…” he gestured unenthusiastically towards the door.

Derek didn’t say anything and Stiles felt like a moron. What was he waiting for? An invitation to stay? It was a ridiculous notion and he couldn’t really believe he’d been so stupid as to come back here. But then again he did have a tendency to just go with his instincts and it was like his gut had been leading him here. But clearly his gut was broken and not to be trusted.

In the end he just turned and shuffled heavily towards the entrance.

“It’s late.”

Stiles startled. He hadn’t expected Derek to say anything, so when he did it caught him totally off guard.

“What?”

Derek didn’t answer straight away, but when he did it was in a soft, somewhat resigned voice that Stiles had only heard him use with Cora.

“It’s late and it’s been, well… an exhausting day. You shouldn’t drive and besides Deaton will probably be back tomorrow morning. I’m guessing you’d want to be here for that.”

Stiles felt weird. His body was humming but he didn’t really understand why. And all of a sudden he felt almost nervous.

“Meaning?”

Derek sighed. “Meaning, you should just crash here for the night. If your dad is at work anyway, he probably won’t worry, right?”

As soon as the words were out and the offer was on the table Stiles realized just how right Derek was. He was beat. His limbs felt heavy and his head hurt slightly, so yes it was probably a good idea not to drive back home at this time of night.

“Okay,” he said uncharacteristically somber.

“Okay,” repeated Derek unnecessarily and he turned and walked towards the winding staircase. Stiles headed for the sofa noticing that there were a couple of throw pillows and a blanket that would do more than nicely.

“Where are you going?”

Once again Stiles startled and this time he couldn’t help but flail a little. “Eh, the sofa?”

Derek grumbled and shook his head. “I’m not letting you sleep alone down here with a potential Incubus, Stiles,” he said tiredly.

“He’s down for the count, Derek. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Derek just glared at him. “I’m sure I’ve heard you say that before and been wrong.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Deaton’s pumped him full of drugs. Don’t you trust the good doctor, Derek?”

“Not even a little,” deadpanned Derek and arched an eyebrow.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” praised Stiles feeling a smile spread across his face. “I don’t like the whole Obi Wan thing he’s got going. And he has Scott wrapped around his little finger.”

Derek shrugged. “I detest the way he talks.”

Stiles nodded intensely. “Oh my god, yes! That is so grating on the nerves. And he’s as frustratingly unhelpful as Dumbledore.”

“Good,” said Derek and turned around. “Then we actually agree that Deaton is suspicious which means Parrish might wake up and maim you in your sleep. So you’re coming with me.”

Stiles watched Derek’s retreating back for a few seconds before he sprang into action. He was lead up the elusive staircase and was frankly blown away when he reached the top floor. He whistled appreciatively.

“I suddenly understand why you want to live here. The space downstairs is depressing and has a freaking hole in the wall, but this is awesome!”

And it truly was. At the top of the stairs was a small group of chairs and –

“Dude!! You do have a TV,” crowed Stiles and punched the air. “Sweet jesus! How many inches is that badboy? You do realize I’m gonna come over and set up my console here right? Game nights will be hosted by you from now on!”

“Oh, the joy,” retorted Derek flatly but Stiles could swear he saw his lips tug into a half smile. He gestured for Stiles to follow and all of a sudden he was in Derek’s bedroom.

Let’s repeat that.

Stiles was standing in Derek Hale’s bedroom.

A bedroom that only had one bed.

Where Derek clearly intended for Stiles to sleep!

“Eh,” said Stiles unintelligently and watched stiffly as Derek crossed the room and slumped down on the spot where he’d evidently been asleep when Stiles had broken in. He gestured wildly, scanned the room but there was no other options available. Aside from the floor of course. Stiles could totally sleep on the floor, no problem at all. He just needed a pillow and he’d be good to go – to sleep.

He toed of his shoes and padded towards the other end of the bed. Derek tracked him with his eyes but didn’t say anything. It made Stiles very nervous.

“Uh, mind if I like, borrow this?” he asked tentatively pointing at the pillow and Derek looked confused.

“Just get into bed, Stiles,” he said tiredly.

“Eh, what now?”

“It’s a very big bed. There is plenty of room. Go to sleep, Stiles.”

Without thinking too much about it, Stiles shrugged out of his hoodie, but kept the sweatpants. He crawled into the bed – and sweet savior this mattress was to die for! He made a very happy sound and burrowed down into it.

“I want to marry this bed,” he murmured contentedly and Derek snorted quietly.

“Please hold off on the ceremony till the morning.”

Stiles didn’t answer. He was already halfway asleep.

**

Stiles woke up in increments.

At first he only opened one eyelid about a quarter, registered that it was still relatively dark and nuzzled back into the immensely comfortable bed. It was a nice feeling, waking up of his own accord and not by the blaring of an alarm or his dad shaking him into consciousness.

He fell back asleep and kept dreaming about the nemeton and the wolf that he’d noticed before, but it didn’t scare him this time. The animal was still apprehensive, circling the tree root but inching slowly closer. After that he plunged into a mindless rest that felt like a lifetime but probably wasn’t more than a couple of minutes. He opened his eyes blearily marveling at the long lost sensation of feeling well rested. The looming darkness that seemed to press down on his chest almost constantly was as good as gone, and he felt safe, secure, warm and content.

Or maybe he was still dreaming?

Stiles opened his eyes completely and just stared. This was not his bedroom.

With a jolt it all came back to him in a rush – Derek running down Parrish, the both of them kidnapping the Deputy, Parrish possibly being a murderous animal scarifying fae with magical seduction skills.  
Stiles falling asleep in Derek’s bed.

_With Derek._

As soon as this notion had taken root everything else slotted into place. Turning his head slightly he was in for a quite a shock. Because the warm toasty feeling Stiles felt engulfing him was not just a result of Derek’s down comforter, but rather Derek himself.

In fact Derek Hale was _spooning_ Stiles Stilinski!

It was a testament to Stiles’ shock that he didn’t flail himself right out of the bed and into a concussion. Instead he lay rooted to the spot, suddenly painfully aware of all the places Derek’s and his body were touching. The werewolf had an arm slung over him with his hand splayed possessively over his stomach. Derek’s face was nuzzled into his neck and Stiles felt shivers run down his back every time he exhaled and his breath tickled his skin.

It was surprisingly comfortable, but also insanely inappropriate and Stiles had a feeling Derek would be mortified and angry if he woke up like this.

He needed to get out of there. School was starting soon anyway (he presumed) and he really had to be back home before his dad got in. There was no way he’d believe Stiles had left for school early – that had never happened. Like ever!

Stiles carefully grabbed hold of Derek’s arm and tried to gently remove it, but instead ended up even more securely nestled into Derek. He could hear his heart beating. No – scratch that. That was Stiles’ heart beating! And it was going a mile a minute and dear god he was working himself into a minor panic attack and of all the horribly wrong places to get that, Derek’s bed was at the top of the list!

He forced himself to try and take calming breaths but it didn’t really help. Unless he could get a hold of himself it was only a matter of time before Derek would wake as a result of him trashing around like a maniac.

What was it Lydia said? Hold your breath?

Stiles tried. Oh he tried, but it was hard when his entire body was fighting him on it. Lydia had ended up kissing him. That had been smart, but that idea was so totally out of the question now…  
Great! And now Stiles was entertaining thoughts of Derek kissing him, and it was not making the situation any better. In fact it was making everything harder – _literally_.

Realizing he was spooning a sometimes borderline feral werewolf and sporting a pretty impressive boner was however just the nudge he needed to get his nerves under control. His life was insane, and if this whole fae mess didn’t end up killing him, he’d probably end up dying of embarrassment. Or possibly having his throat ripped out – with Derek’s teeth, because Stiles couldn’t really imagine Derek waking up cuddling his skinny human ass and being okay with that. And he’d totally blame it on Stiles.

So, escape it was.

Stiles did another attempt at removing Derek’s possessive arm, but ended up being manhandled into an even more intimate position, and dear lord little Stiles was poking Derek’s thigh!!

MAYDAY!

Clearly pulling at Derek’s arm was not the way to go. In fact it had so far been very counterproductive to Stiles’ escape plans (although very enjoyable on every other level – but that was not something he’d wanted to think about – no sire, not at all!). He was not keen on the prospect of waking Derek. Just the thought made him hyperventilate slightly, because although embarrassment thy name is Stiles even he had his limits. That was his absolute last resort!

But until then he’d give the old Hug’n Roll a try.

Mentally thanking the gods for his dad’s obsession with Jennifer Aniston and his constant _Friends_ rewatch Stiles gritted his teeth and hugged Derek as tight as he could. He made a very happy purring sound and nuzzled into his hair, and sweet mama that felt all kinds of awesome – but focus!!! He put all his weight into it and rolled them over to Derek’s side so the werewolf ended up on his back. This also incidentally put Stiles on top of Derek and _holy moly_ – he was not the only one sporting morning wood!!!

For a few seconds Stiles’ brain shut down completely and by the time it had rebooted enough to perform simple tasks such as rolling away, Derek was rolling his hips – no scratch that – _gyrating_ his hips and wolfy junior was grinding antagonizingly close to stiles junior.

Stiles’ brain shut down again and for a few blessed seconds he let his body take over and sweet lord he’d gone to heaven! The friction was just right and Derek’s purry growls were intensifying and Stiles was the worst human being ever and crap he needed to get off – _no no no_ – he needed to _get away_!

  
He rolled away and YES he was free. He scampered off the bed, located his hoodie and pulled it on inside out. Derek was rolling around, muttering unhappily in his sleep. His hands were patting at the mattress as if searching for something, and dear god what if he woke up! Stiles grabbed the nearest pillow and placed it close to Derek’s wandering hands. He grabbed onto it, pulled it close and inhaled deeply. Obviously satisfied he settled down and soon a soft snore could be heard. Stiles let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding – no wonder he was feeling lightheaded – grabbed his shoes and tiptoed out of the room.

On his way towards the door he registered that Parrish was still heavily sedated: He was about to reach for the door when a soft voice spoke.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

Stiles let out a very unmanly squeak, flailed gracelessly and promptly skidded down a few steps on the stairs. He regained his balance with a series of excessive arm movements.

Peter Hale was regarding him discerningly propped against a pillar and dangling Stiles’ keychain between two fingers.

“Peter,” said Stiles with all the digintiy he could muster. It wasn’t much.

“Stiles,” replied Peter, his voice dripping with unveiled amusement. “Doing the walk of shame?”

“What? Walk of - ! No!” Stiles stared at him with his eyes bugging and mouth gaping. “No shame, none at all because nothing happened. Nothing that you might think happened anyway. Just a lot of sleeping. There is no shame in that.”

Peter smiled lopsidedly and arched an eyebrow. Damn the Hales and their eyebrow game!

“Oh Stiles,” purred Peter and sauntered towards him, shaking his head condescendingly. “Your body betrays you. Elevated heartbeat and I don’t think you want me to tell you what information your scent is giving me.”

“Please go somewhere and die,” deadpanned Stiles and Peter laughed. “Bravo – _that_ was the truth. I’ll consider it. In the meantime-“ he cocked his head towards Parrish, “would you mind telling me what that is all about?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and snatched the keys. Peter smirked. Stiles glared.

“Ask Derek, I’m late for school.”

“Oh I will,” purred Peter with a wink.

Stiles shuddered, turned around and left without another word, praying that Peter would somehow meet a timely demise sooner than later and that he’d get home before his dad realized he’d been out all night. He didn’t feel too optimistic about either.

 

***

Come find me on [Tumblr](http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/)


	6. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is confused, Isaac is a douche, a body is found and Parrish does not take to the role of hostage with any grace or poise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me much longer to finish this chapter than planned and I blame May. It's a busy month. Also this is the most "tame" chapter to date - no naughty business of any kind, but i hope you enjoy it none the less.

By some divine miracle Stiles managed to get home before his dad returned from the night shift. It felt like the first glimmer of luck in weeks and all through the world’s quickest shower Stiles tried to send thankful notes to all the holy deities he could think of. Just to be on the safe side.

He dressed at top speed, muttering dark curses under his breath because his neck looked if possible even worse today. He fired off a text to Isaac to meet him outside school for a clandestine scarf handoff and more fell than walked down the stairs. He wrenched open the door, a piece of jam covered toast dangling limply from his mouth and promptly ran straight into his dad.

The sheriff looked beat. He stepped around Stiles with a sigh and shuffled heavily into the hall.

“Late as always,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow and Stiles shrugged.

“Not late,” he insisted surveying the toast that naturally had fallen to the floor during their impact. The jam covered side facing down - of course. His luck had evidently run out.

“I’ve perfected a system based on the ‘ _Just in time_ ’ principle. It’s very efficient.”

His dad scoffed. “It also sometimes leads to you running red lights. I get reports.”

Stiles spluttered and tried to salvage the toast. “ _Red lights_? Never! Sometimes it might be a tinge towards the pink pallet, but never red. Scout’s honor.”

The sheriff heaved a sigh and removed his belt. “I’ve long suspected you’re color blind, son. Might be time to have that tested. And you better get a move on. Your neck looks horrid today, by the way.”

“Thank you, I’m aware of that,” snarked Stiles. “Do you have the day off?”

His dad nodded. “Thank god for that. I’m going to sleep for a few hours and then try to pay Parrish a visit. We still haven’t gotten hold of him.”

Stiles paled, spun around and sprinted for the car.

“What about this piece of toast?” yelled his dad exasperated? “You can keep it!”

Stiles thought he saw his dad flipping him off as he sped out of the driveway, but it was probably just a trick of the light.

**

Isaac was late.

Stiles was hovering by the double doors more or less plastered to the wall to hide the bruised side of his neck from curious students. He’d tried wearing his hood at first, but soon realized it made him look somewhat suspicious. Or rather _more_ suspicious. His lurking and scowling was already giving off serious creeper vibes. Some stupid freshman had even eveapproached him for weed, and he’d much rather people mock his love bites than get hauled into the sheriff’s station charged with distribution of illicit drugs. Not that he had any to distribute and there would be no case, but still. His dad would not laugh.

_And where the frick was Lahey?_

Stiles craned his neck in all directions but still no sign of Isaac’s curly mop. It was just a matter of minutes before the bell would ring and then he’d be forced to walk into the classroom looking like a fucking Picasso painting. It was not a tempting scenario.

He caught the eye of Danny as he hurried by and watched in amusement as his eyes widened comically. He whistled.

“Someone’s had a bit of fun lately,” he said lewdly and Stiles shrugged. Somehow he didn’t mind Danny teasing him. This whole mess might have been avoided if Stiles and Danny’s paths hadn’t crossed that night at the Kwik-E Mart, but still it had led to certain revelations that weren’t all that bad all things considered.

“Why do you smell like Derek?”

Stiles yelped, flailed and spun around all at once and Isaac had to take a few steps back to relative safety.

“Isaac, what have I told you about not sneaking up on people,” admonished Stiles with a glower. These little scares were shaving years of his life! Not that he had all that high hopes of living long and prospering until old age with the rate supernatural shit was rolling into town. But still. Not nice!

Isaac snickered and shrugged, a stupid smirky smile plastered all over his angelic face. He cocked his head and surveyed Stiles’ neck.

“What happened to you? Or better yet – _who_ happened? It didn’t look like that yesterday.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and made impatient gimme-gestures. “Did you bring it?” he hissed and Isaac crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.

“Maybe. But you still haven’t answered my questions. What happened to your neck?”

“What was that about a neck? Oh jesus Christ, **STILES**??!!!”

Scott had rounded the corner and was staring aghast at the kaleidoscope of bruises in varying shades of blue and purple.

“Oh my god, Stiles have Parrish attacked you again? Do you remember anything? _Are you hurt_?”

Scott looked so concerned and afraid that it made Stiles feel all warm and tingly inside. His bro was totally worried.

“Yeah, about that,” said Stiles apprehensively. “I might have been pulled over last night by the good deputy. He wanted to arrest me for indecent exposure.”

“Indecent?! _What_?”

Scott looked adorably confused, glancing from Isaac to Stiles and back again. “How could you be indecent when you were in your car?”

“Shhhh, lower your voice, dude!” hissed Stiles and waved stupidly as a couple of Lydia’s periphery friends walked by. “And Isaac, please give me that scarf or I won’t tell you a thing!”

Seconds later the scarf was securely coiled around his neck, and –

“Isaac, this itches like a bitch!”

Stiles tugged at it but it didn’t make it any better. Isaac cocked his head and proceeded to arrange it artfully around his shoulder, tying a stupid little knot in front.

“It’s a wool blend,” he offered conversationally. “It’s haute couture.”

“It’s _horrid torture_ you mean,” spat Stiles but let it be. He’d just have to suffer through it.

“Well?” Scott was waiting impatiently and so Stiles hurried through the cliff note’s version of last night’s events deliberately skipping the entire part of him returning to Derek’s loft and accidentally spooning him with an added bonus of very awkward boners and a creepy uncle.

“Dude! Did Derek really whack him with the door?”

Scott’s eyes were bugging and Stiles nodded furiously while backing into the classroom.

“Totally. He came out of nowhere and it was both sort of awesome and hella embarrassing. I was being felt up stark naked from the waist down on the side of a road. Not a sight I want anyone who knows me to witness.”

Scott bit his lip pensively and Isaac simply looked bored. “I guess,” he murmured. “But if it turns out he’s the fae it will totally be worth a bit of embarrassment am I right?”

“I don’t appreciate being stalked,” complained Stiles with a frown. Isaac snorted. Scott narrowed his eyes and punched him square in the shoulder – DEAR GOD! – why did they all feel the need to punch him these days?

Stiles flailed and almost knocked over the substitute teacher from hell – darn was it Chemistry again?

“What was that for?” he hissed and dumped down into his usual seat. He caught Allison’s eye across the room and she nodded with a glance in Lydia’s direction. Evidently she was caught up on last night’s events as well.

“That’s for not calling me! Dude, we’re bros – if you’re in trouble I’m always there for you. Instead you called _Lydia_? Are you still trying to get into her pants? Cause I thought this whole liking dudes thing kind of ruled her out.”

Stiles slumped down in his seat with a very put-upon sigh.

“First of all, Scotty – I _’m bi_. That means I enjoy members of both sexes in equal measures. And NO – I’m not trying to woo Lydia. If so I sure as hell wouldn’t involve her in this epic shit fest, would I. You were on Nemeton watch with Isaac last night and Lydia had the fae notes, that’s it. I’m not trying to exclude you, ok buddy.”

Scott still looked sourly but Mrs. ScaryFreak chose that moment to slam a hand down on the table that effectively caught everyone’s attention and they were forced to postpone their little talk. Stiles resigned himself for another hour of glares and snide remarks and wasn’t disappointed when she started the class by outlining the assignment on acids and volunteered Stiles to come to the front to identify which liquids were which just by looking at them. As if he was some sort of human Litmus test. They all looked like water and it was an impossible task (she refused to let him smell them) and he ended up with a minor blister for his trouble. He was now bruised and burned. All he lacked was being battered and he’d achieved the trifecta. Oh well, the day was still young.

When the substitute stepped out for a moment Stiles took the opportunity to send a text to Derek asking him to look for Parrish’s phone. If Derek could send his dad a text saying Parrish was home sick they might manage to hide the kidnapping until Deaton came back with some answers.

His phone beeped shrilly – Crap! He’d forgotten to put it on mute – with a reply from Derek just seconds later.

_Found the phone, text sent. Didn’t see U leave – everything okay?_

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and darn those freaking werewolves! Both Isaac and Scott had whipped around and were staring at him curiously. Stiles shook his head and mouthed ' _It’s nothing_ '. Scott shrugged and turned his attention back to the assignment but Isaac continued to observe him coolly.

Stiles did his level best to ignore him, but he could feel his eyes on him all the time and after a few minutes he couldn’t deal. He turned around and bestowed Isaac with his most overburdened look.

“What is it, Lahey?” he whispered shrilly. That caught the attention of Scott as well. Lovely.

“You never told us why you smell like Derek?”

And there went his treacherous heart again, skipping like a freaking kangaroo! Both Scott and Isaac raised their eyebrows in perfect unison like they’d fucking rehearsed it. Stiles gritted his teeth and slumped down in his chair as far as he could possibly go without sliding off completely.

“Probably because I was at his loft last night,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You know, dropping off Parrish and going through the fae info.”

Isaac shook his head and crap he was smirking. When had Isaac turned into such a sass meister?

“Lydia was there too,” he said sweetly, “but she only smells faintly of both you and Derek. You however smell like you’ve been rolling around with him, possibly _on top_ of him.”

Scott’s eyes were wide as saucers. Stiles idly wondered if he could get away with poisoning Isaac’s lunch. Just pop in a mistletoe or two.

“Lydia probably took a longer and more thorough shower than me,” he suggested wildly. Isaac tittered. “Nice try, Stilinski.”

“Fuck off.”

“GENTLEMEN!”

They all froze when a shrill voice penetrated the air. Stiles turned around slowly, and yes, would you look at that. The substitute teacher was back and snarling so heavily he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d started spewing smoke and flames. Smaug seemed positively demure by comparison.

“I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my classroom. Detention this afternoon, all three of you!”

Stiles was going to strangle Isaac with his own scarf, so help him god.

 

**

Thankfully Stiles didn’t have any more classes with Isaac that day and he managed to avoid him during lunch by hiding out in the supply closet. Yeah, definitely not his finest moment but he wasn’t keen on a long-winded interrogation and besides the scarf was itching something furiously and he needed a reprieve away from prying eyes.

He’d ignored the text from Derek, because he hadn’t the faintest clue what to say. In a futile attempt to forget all about the events of this morning he poured over Lydia’s notes on Incubus but his concentration left a lot to be desired. Between memories of his strange sleepover with Derek and wondering if Parrish might be supernatural, it was borderline impossible to focus on anything other than devouring his lunch and contemplating skipping the rest of the day.

He was about to cave in and jet out of there when the door opened with a shrill squeak which Stiles immediately found himself imitating. A shadow loomed over him and it was only once it started tutting disapprovingly that he realized it was Lydia. She really was omnipresent – he was sure of it!

She filed into the closet with the air and grace of a runway model, shut the door behind her and dropped to the floor as fluidly as a sheer piece of silk. Stiles remained speechless, a curly fry halfway to his gaping mouth.

“Eh, Lydia,” he stammered “what are you doing here?”

She brushed an invisible piece of lint off her top and bestowed him with her most maternal look. It made him squirm uncomfortably and want to tell her all his secrets. Damn! Lydia had cracked the mom-code, and it was working wonders on him!

“You’re hiding,” said Lydia matter-of-factly. Stiles arched an eyebrow and shrugged in a “duh” kind of way.

“You’re hiding which means you’ve got something to hide, and I want to know what that is. I couldn’t help but overhear your not so subtle conversation with Scott and Isaac in class, and FYI you need to work on your hushed whispers unless you want the whole town clued in on the otherworldly happenings around here.” She stopped to draw a breath and stole a fry that she chewed daintily while watching him fidget.

“So,” she prodded after a minute.

“So what?” replied Stiles testily? “I’m just anxious about this business with Parrish who might or might not be fae. Because if it turns out he’s not, then I have to own up to the fact that I’ve got horrid self-control and are letting my downstairs brain do all the thinking lately and that is freaking me out.”

Lydia nodded and smiled fondly. “I understand completely. It’s like when Peter was controlling me and I thought I was losing my mind. I was constantly looking for an explanation – anything to avoid confronting the notion that I might genuinely be a basket case.”

Huh. He’d never thought about it like that but it made perfect sense. “It turned out okay for you, though,” he said with a sad smile. Lydia laughed.

“Sure, if you consider finding out you’re a human Geiger counter for death okay.”

They just looked at each other for a moment and then Lydia reached out and grabbed his hand, running her thumb in soothing circles. It was calming – and surprisingly platonic.

“I’m glad I got to know you,” he blurted before he could activate the poor excuse of a filter he sometimes possessed. Lydia looked startled for a moment, and then her face morphed into a fond half smile.

“I am too. As it turns out there’s an actual brain, a trunkful of bravery and a wee bit of denseness under all those layers of plaid and sarcasm. It’s a fascinating combination.”

Stiles snorted. “Fascinating, huh? You really know how to charm a guy.”

She cocked her head and chewed her lip. Just a few months ago such a display would’ve turned him into a useless mess of horniness and flailing limbs. Now it just made him want to hug her.

“Something happened.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a statement and he knew it was futile to protest. Lydia had a way of knowing when he was lying. And Stiles had a feeling she wouldn’t laugh at him like Isaac or blurt out his secret like Scott if he told her. And he seriously needed to tell someone, because his brain was working overtime and already halfway to an epic freak-out.

“I went back there.”

“To Derek’s?”

She didn’t sound surprised. Why wasn’t she surprised? He’d been very surprised by the decision – a decision he’d made without knowing he’d made it. Which made no sense but then again his life hadn’t made a lick of sense in weeks, so…

He nodded. “Yeah. I got home and I couldn’t sleep. I guess I felt guilty about abandoning him with Parrish when I was as much to blame for the whole mess as he was.”

Stiles heaved a sigh and was relieved to find that Lydia showed no signs of wanting to mock him.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he continued. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking at all. But I locked myself in not wanting to disturb him. I really just wanted to pull my weight, and help monitor the situation.”

“You have a key?” Lydia didn’t sound surprised. He shrugged. “I had one made.”

She laughed quietly. “Of course you did.” He chose to ignore the comment.

“I guess it was stupid thinking I could sneak into a werewolf’s loft. Anyway Derek woke up, scared the shit out of me and refused to let me drive home in the middle of the night. He also refused to let me sleep downstairs on the sofa alone with Parrish, so…” He trailed off, and busied himself with stuffing his mouth full of fries. They were cold and not particularly tasty.

“I think I can guess the rest,” said Lydia mirthfully and laughed when Stiles started spluttering, spraying fries in all directions.

“Nothing happened!” he half yelled. “Or, well not nothing, but not something deliberate. Oh crap, I’m not explaining this very well at all, and it was awkward and basically I just snuck out and then I had a very creepy run-in with Peter and now Derek’s texting me wondering if I’m okay, and I’m not okay. Not even a little!”

Stiles slumped down burying his face in his hands and groaned loudly. “My life officially sucks and I want to strangle Isaac with this bloody itchy scarf so bad.”

He heard Lydia shuffle around and soon she was sitting beside him wrapping her arm around his neck and just hugging him close.

“That scarf is hideous,” she murmured and Stiles snorted.

“It really is, but the alternative is not appealing at all.”

“I’ll help you cover up the worst of it, and I actually have brought another scarf – I saw the marks yesterday you know.” She pulled out a marine scarf from her sizable bag and handed it over.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he gushed and Lydia shrugged. “I do what I can. And don’t worry about the Derek thing. It will work itself out.”

Stiles was not so sure, but still let Lydia lead him out of the supply closet and to the next class without comment.

***

Stiles managed to avoid any awkward conversations the rest of the day mainly by gluing himself to Lydia and letting her deflect all attention to herself and away from him. Scott kept giving him curious looks that involved a lot of eyebrows and frowns, but didn’t say anything.

Not until detention anyway.

Sadly it turned out that Stiles, Isaac and Scott were the only ones in detention that afternoon and sadder still was the fact that the new Chemistry teacher was presiding over it with the air of a very stern librarian.

“Where’s my scarf,” hissed Isaac only minutes into it making Stiles roll his eyes and Scott groan. The teacher shushed loudly. Not a good start.

Stiles threw it back at him when the teacher was rooting around in one of the drawers. Isaac looked highly affronted and kept glaring at the lovely itch-free scarf Lydia had provided as if it had personally offended him. It gave Stiles an almost childish sense of contentment. Sometimes Isaac was such a douche.

For the next half hour they managed to stay quiet. Stiles actually managed to finish his math homework and make a start on the lab report due in a couple of days when his pocket started vibrating. Or rather his phone did, but the effect was the same – he floundered to fish it out without alerting the teacher. He must have succeeded because she kept on perusing the huge tome in front of her.

It was a text from Derek and once again Stiles felt his heartbeat skip unnecessary. He more heard than saw Scott and Isaac turned towards him, but chose to ignore them.

_Deaton coming at six. Will U B here? Never heard back from U, R U okay?_

Without overthinking things he fired back a quick reply.

_Am ok. I’ll be there. Will bring the others._

He briefly considered not telling the other right away as sort of payback for being so utterly annoying, but their glaring was unbearable and after just a minute Stiles caved. He mouthed ‘ _Deaton at Derek’s at six_ ’ and the werewolves nodded solemnly.

When detention was nearing its end, Stiles was pleased to note that he’d done all his homework for tomorrow, finished the lab report and outlined an essay. He’d have time to go home and have dinner with his dad before heading over to Derek’s and hopefully his dad had believed the text Derek had sent from Parrish’ phone.

They were packing up their things when Scott's phone peeped shrilly announcing an incoming text, and Stiles knew immediately by the slump of his shoulders that it wasn’t good news. The substitute harrumphed sternly and glared menacingly at the phone, but could little do as school was now officially out for the day. They hurried out of the classroom and out to the parking lot.

“It’s from Ethan,” informed Scott warily. Stiles cringed. He still wasn’t comfortable with the murder twins helping out considering their past crimes, but it was Scott’s call and he’d resigned himself to the idea.

“We need to go to the Nemeton. They’ve found a body.”

**

“Oh my god, the smell is ghastly!”

Stiles scrunched up his nose and stared appalled at the display in front of him. Four sets of werewolf eyes of varying color were glaring at him.

“What?” he asked and poked at the body with a long stick he’d found on the ground. Just to make absolutely sure she was indeed dead. She looked dead, but he’d seen enough horror movies to know that sometimes that was not the case. And it usually did not turn out good for the heroes. So yeah, caution and all that.

“Imagine how it smells for someone with werewolf senses,” muttered Isaac. The twins made grunting noises that Stiles assumed meant they were agreeing. He didn’t much care one way or the other.

Allison was walking the perimeter around the Nemeton, occasionally leaning down to examine something on the ground. She looked very concentrated and Stiles never dared bug here when she was in full hunter mode. The girl got daggers and was not afraid to use them.

“I can see that it’s a woman, but should we like turn her around or something? To identify her,” asked one of the twins and Stiles shook his head vehemently.

“No, this is a crime scene and we need to call my dad in. We shouldn’t touch anything more than necessary. But I’m guessing this is once again the work of our not so friendly neighborhood fae.”

Isaac nodded. “It’s the same sort of setup like with the dogs, only he or she’s moved up a level to human sacrifices. Man, I’d hoped we were done with this shit.”

“You and me both,” muttered Stiles. He had no lost love for emissary-turned-dark-druid Jennifer Blake, and he hadn't totally ruled her out as a possible culprit. The fact remained that Scott and Derek had let her slither away and chances were she was still out there somewhere plotting her return. But although she’d made sacrifices to the Nemeton, it was never displayed like this. So in all likelihood this was caused by something different.

“At least I know who the victim is, “said Scott with a resigned sigh. “Don’t you recognize her scent, Isaac?” he asked and gestured towards the body.

“I only smell blood and rotting flesh,” complained Isaac. He’d wrapped the itchy scarf around his nose and mouth and looked like a stylish mummy.

“Yeah, but if you concentrate you can totally make out the distinct smell of lavender and cabbage. I’m pretty sure it’s our previous substitute teacher Mrs Watson.”

“The knitting lady?” Stiles looked again, and yes she was wearing a hideous knitted creation in her favorite colors of brown and turquoise, so it was totally possible.

“When did we get the new scary substitute again?” Allison was apparently done with her examinations and had snuck almost wolflike up on Stiles.

“She showed up this week, which means Mrs.Watson must have been missing for a few days. The school wouldn’t know to call in someone new otherwise. I wonder if my dad knows anything about this.”

“You should call him,” said Allison with a firm nod. Stiles fished out his phone and a few minutes later his dad was informed on his way. He could confirm that Mrs. Watson had indeed been reported missing Friday of last week.

“The real question is where she’s been all this time,” mused Stiles. “We’ve been patrolling this area pretty frequently. When was your last sweep?”

“We were here at around three last night,” said Scott.

“So she hasn’t been here for long,” concluded Stiles with a frown. “And I wonder how long she’s been dead.”

A faint rustling of leaves was all the warning they got before a silky voice interrupted their little investigation.

“You’re all poor excuses for werewolves,” crooned Peter.

They all turned as one and glared at the former alpha that was leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree, a lopsided smirk in place while carelessly inspecting his nails – _claws_? Whatever.

“ _You_ ,” hissed Scott and yes, that was definitely a tinge of red to his eyes. Stiles grabbed hold of his arm to calm him.

“Me,” replied Peter with a full grin. God he was creepy! “If you’d spent just an iota of time on honing your senses instead of whining about girlfriends and lacrosse, you’d be able to smell that her body has been dead for roughly 14-16 hours.”

Scott was growling and Isaac had taken up position behind him. Ethan and Aiden were keeping their distance for now. Stiles however just rolled his eyes.

“Could you maybe cut the creepy lurking? If you want to help, just ask. You’re not gaining any favor by stalking us, you know.”

Peter gazed at him an eyebrow arched high. “I’ll take that under advisement, Stilinski. Maybe we can discuss it some other morning? That is of course if you’re staying for breakfast next time.” He smiled sweetly and Stiles found himself spluttering incoherently.

“Shut it,” he snarled angrily. “There'll be no breakfast conversations - ever!”

Scott and Isaac looked confused yet intrigued. Stiles wondered if he could get away with killing Peter again. Something that stuck this time.

Peter gestured resignedly and sauntered over to the Nemeton. “Oh Stiles, you’re no fun. Now let's see. She’s been dead for less than 24 hours but kept hostage for some time before.” He crouched down beside the body and because curiosity always won over disgust (facts of life)soon they were all crowded around him.

“How can you tell,” asked Scott. It sounded like it pained him to ask, and his eyes were still rimmed with red, but he was in control and that was the most important thing.

Peter curled his lips in a very self-satisfactory grin that Stiles wanted dearly to wipe off, preferably with a large branch of mistletoe wrapped in wolfsbane.

“See her wrists. They’ve got bruisings and marks, like she’s been tied up. You can tell that they’ve been scabbed over multiple times, indicating that she’s been held over time and has made numerous failed attempts to get free.

Allison crowded in on the werewolf and he visible shrank back. Clearly he was still wary of any Argent and Stiles filed the information away for later exploration.

“He’s right,” she concluded. “She seems to have been tied up with some sort of sturdy rope judging by the chafe marks.”

“Well this has been fun,” announced Peter sarcastically and brushed invisible dust of his ridiculously deep v-neck. “I can hear Beacon Hills finest upholders of the law are on their way, so I’ll bid you all adieu for now.”

He winked at Stiles and slunk back into the shadows and out of sight like freaking Edward Cullen.

“I don’t like him,” mumbled Scott.

“No one likes him,” said Stiles tiredly. “But more importantly I just realized something. If Mrs. Watson was killed 14-16 hours ago, that means it couldn’t have been Parrish. At the time he was heavily sedated at Derek’s loft.”

Allison pursed her lips and Scott sighed. “I don’t know if we’re supposed to be relieved or not. On the one hand your sort of boyfriend is in the clear, but on the other side we’re no closer to finding the fae.”

“Not to mention the fact that Derek and I most likely will be facing an assault and kidnapping charge.”

Scott cringed. “Yeah, whoops. Totally forgot about that.”

Stiles watched with a sinking stomach as his dad crashed into the clearing and marched towards them with a very resigned look on his face.

“I’m so screwed.”

***

They quickly told his dad what they knew and he promised to get back to them as soon as he’d completed his usual investigation and the forensic team and coroner had done their things. There was absolutely no reason for them to stick around (none of them wanted to be implicated in the case in any way or form). Allison left to pick up LydiaScott and Isaac had a dinner appointment with Melissa that neither dared skip and so Stiles was left to his own devices.

He waved the others off and got in the Jeep considering briefly going for some junk food somewhere but soon realized that he didn’t have any appetite. His stomach was in knots and until this business with Parrish was cleared up, he was unlikely to get any peace of mind.

Before he really knew it he found himself parked outside Derek’s building – and seriously, this was becoming a very worrying tendency. It was still some time before Deaton would be there, but going home was futile and there was no way he’d be able to concentrate on school work.

As he approached the door to the loft butterflies seemed to erupt from some sort of cocoon inside his stomach and he felt jittery and nervous. There was still time to flee and wait for the others to arrive but as he stopped outside the door raised voices and angry yelling were leaking into the hallway. Next he knew he’d wrenched opened the heavy door and stood gawping at the scene before him.

Parrish was very much awake. And suffice to say he was not taking to this hostage situation with any grace or poise.

“- this is so fucked up! Why have you kidnapped me? You realize I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy and this will resolve in a lengthy prison sentence for you. I’ve read your file, Hale. You’ve been under investigation before, and it won’t take much to convict you!!!”

Parrish was red in the face and snarling like a wild beast. He was still tied up, but had been moved from the bed to a chair. Derek was slumped against the back of the sofa, a frown on his face and the telltale signs of patience wearing thin. Stiles knew those signs well.

“If you’d calm the fuck down,” hissed Derek through clenched teeth, “I promise you all will be explained.”

Parrish laughed mirthlessly and slightly manically if the high pitched tone was anything to go by.

“I’d like to see you explain away this! You do realize I’m tied to a chair, I’ve been sedated, run over by a car and held against my will??”

Although Stiles couldn’t really see it from where he was standing he just knew that Derek was rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I am aware of the fact,” he replied drily. “There is a reason as i've already explained, but you seem to somewhat sceptical. So I'm saving my breath and waiting for the others to get here. And I _bumped_ you with a car door, you were never run over.”

“Semantics! And what others? Oh lord, do you have a whole gang of psychopaths?”

Derek shrugged indifferently and Stiles had to bite his lip not to snort. Derek could be such a snarky bastard when he was in the right mood.

“Some of them might classify as having borderline psychopathic tendencies. Speaking off…” he trailed off and gestured slightly with his head in Stiles’ direction.

“Oh nice, thank you for that analysis,” huffed Stiles. “It takes one to know one I suppose.” He stalked across the floor towards the chair and its occupant that was situated with his back against the big windows. Parrish’ eyes bugged out when he laid eyes on him.

“Hi there,” said Stiles lamely with a nervous sort of wave. He could hear Derek snort and calmly flipped him off. Derek grabbed his finger and twisted it slightly making him squeak unmanly.

“What’s with you and hurting my poor hands and fingers?”

Derek just smiled vindictively and crossed his arms. Stiles shook his head and turned his attention back to Jordan who was gaping somewhat unattractively.

Oh who was he kidding? Everything Jordan did was attractive. Even gaping. Some people were just blessed.

“So, how are you, all things considered?” he asked lamely. Derek groaned somewhere behind him and Stiles shushed him.

Parrish just stared at him looking positively 508 % done. Stiles could relate.

“I can’t believe you’re part of this farce,” muttered Jordan with a glower in Derek’s direction. “Your buddy, Hale has been spinning me _fairytales_ \- _literally_! Apparently he’s a werewolf. And here I thought vampires were all the rage.”

Stiles squirmed and threw a look over his shoulder at Derek who was smirking slightly. And was that an eyebrow? Oh yes it was, it was arched in a telltale amused manner meaning he was just going to stand there and do nothing while Stiles got to try and explain this mess to an non-believer. Great! Where was his chessboard when he needed it?

“Well,” he began with a shrug, “I’ve yet to encounter any evidence of vampirism. But lycanthropy I know a fair bit about, and I’m starting to get a firm grasp on faes.” Derek barked out an unamused laugh.

Parrish rolled his eyes in a manner that suggested he’d been exposed to a Hale for a lengthy period of time. The eye roll was contagious, Stiles was sure of it.

“Yes, of course, the elusive field of _faes_ , which apparently the popular theory is that I’m a part of.” He leveled Stiles with his most condescending glower. “You do realize how utterly INSANE that sounds, right?”

Stiles nodded and frowned his lips. “I do. It does not change the fact that faes very much exists. My friend Lydia is one.”

“I’m going to get you both admitted to the nearest asylum. Can you imagine waking up in this creepy loft with no recollection of how I got here only to find a serial killer in training going off at me for using my " _evil fae powers"_ on poor you. As for what happened last night, the last thing I remember is eating takeaway at home. I was planning on a nap before my shift started and the next thing I know I wake up bound, bruised and held against my will. And somehow you’re involved in this too?”

Stiles turned to Derek who was regarding Parrish carefully, probably listening to his heartbeat.

“Didn’t you explain about last night?”

Derek looked at him strangely, a small frown forming but nodded curtly.

“I did. He claims he doesn’t remember it.”

“IT'S THE TRUTH!!!” yelled Parrish in frustration and almost knocked his chair over. Derek simply stalked out of the room and into the kitchen. After hesitating for a split second, Stiles followed.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he yelled over his shoulder at Parrish and a string of very colorful curses trailed after him into the kitchen area.

“So,” he began tentatively watching Derek open the fridge (still not plugged in) and grab a bottle of what must be lukewarm water. He unscrewed it and gulped down several mouthfuls. Stiles lost his train of thought for a moment, watching in fascination as Derek swallowed.

“Eh, uh, I mean, is he like, telling the truth?”

Derek pursed his lips and swirled the content of the bottle around a few times, looking somewhat forlorn. He then offered it to Stiles who accepted with shaking hands.

“I was so sure,” began Derek almost inaudibly and Stiles moves closer on instinct. “I was almost positive that he was our guy, but listening to him talk, it really does seem like he’s telling the truth.”

Stiles heaved a sigh and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I think you might be right. You probably haven’t heard but Ethan and Aiden found a body on the Nemeton this afternoon. It’s our substitute teacher and she’s been missing since Friday. According to Peter – who’s spending time lurking and stalking it seems, lovely relative I must say – she was killed about 14-16 hours ago.”

Derek visible deflated and he rubbed his hair nervously. It was oddly endearing.

“Parrish was here then.”

Stiles nodded. “I know. He’s not the one killing dogs and people. Which means he might not be fae at all.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“That’s an understatement.”

The stared at each other for a long while, neither saying anything but both thinking the same thing. In most likelihood they were both royally screwed.

“I need to talk to my dad, try to explain this and hope he can help smooth things over,” muttered Stiles feeling dread creep in over him like the thickest fog of Mordor.

“I’ll take the blame,” said Derek and Stiles hit him on the shoulder.

“You’ll do no such thing,” snarled Stiles levelling him with a withering glare. “It’s not your fault I can’t keep it in my pants.”

“I’m really sorry,” mumbled Derek and his eyes kept flickering towards the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Anywhere but Stiles.

“I was listening to his heartbeat and although really zen people might be able to deceive us, scents are almost impossible to mask. And I could scent his emotions, Stiles. When you entered the room – he felt betrayed, hurt and really really angry. It’s clear that he genuinely likes you.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but realized he didn’t know what to say. Firstly – Derek Hale was talking to him – _about emotions_!! And secondly – Derek Hale was talking to him _about emotion_ s!! That kind of shit just didn’t happen!

“Could you wait down here for Deaton? I think I need a shower,” muttered Derek and before Stiles had managed to get out as much as a syllable, Derek had evaporated up the winding staircase and out of sight.

Not knowing what else to do, Stiles wandered back out to Parrish who unsurprisingly hadn’t moved much. Derek did indeed have excellent knotmanship Stiles mused absentmindedly and chanced a glance at his watch. Deaton should be here any moment.

Suddenly he was acutely aware that someone was staring at him. His eyes landed on Parrish and it startled him to see a pair of intensely green eyes looking back with equal measures of ill-concealed loathing and lust.

Oh no, thought Stiles fervently feeling some very unwelcome stirrings in his pants. It was as if little Stiles had been conditioned to react with instant boner whenever Jordan lowered his lashes and devoured him with just a gaze.

“No, no, no, no,” said Stiles with as much unattractive flailing he could muster. He almost fell over the sofa in his haste to get further away from Jordan. “We’re so not going down that road, mister. People are about to arrive and besides, we still don’t know for sure about this fae thing. Yeah, so, I’m like – gonna play it safe, all the way over here. Alright?”

Parrish seemed to shake himself slightly and the intensity of his gaze dimmed a little. For a moment he just stared at Stiles and after a while he started to squirm. He then slumped a little, sighed and smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he said and Stiles blinked confusedly.

“Why are you apologizing? Are you developing Stockholm’s syndrome already?”

Jordan actually laughed and shook his head slightly. “You really are something,” he grinned and Stiles frowned deeply.

“What are you on about?”

“And you’re a bit dense when it comes to matters of the heart. If I’d known I wouldn’t have pursued you so intently. And I know it was stupid, with you being the sheriff’s kid and all. I just couldn’t help it.”

Stiles has a million questions, but naturally that was the moment Deaton chose to glide almost soundlessly into the loft, a bag slung over his shoulder and a serene expression in place.

Derek must have noticed too because suddenly he was just there, breathing down Stiles’ neck making shivers and goose bumps spread down his spine like weeds on speed.

“Do you have the results?” he asked breathlessly and more or less pawned at the piece of paper Deaton magicked out of nowhere.

“I do,” answered the good doctor and Stiles ripped the manila folder out of his hands at the same time that Scott and the rest of the pack spilled into the loft. They all crowded around him, ignoring Parrish’ distressed cries for attention.

For a full minute no one says a word. Finally Stiles broke the silence.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to say we need to call my dad.”

****

Come find me on [tumblr](darachmoon.tumblr.com)


	7. He said what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The secret of Parrish is revealed - sort of. Also - a chessboard, a broken glass, the removal of several scarves and a shocking twist.

Waiting for his dad to arrive turned out to be one of the more awkward half hours of Stiles’ life. And that was somewhat suprising since he was surrounded by people he for the most part would label friends at least under normal circumstances. But normal was a concept he only vaguely recognized these days.

Firstly there was the kidnapped deputy that had previously, and on numerous occations, seen _all_ of him and was now probably pissed enough to reveal stuff in excruciating detail. There was also a best friend who was semi-annoyed because Stiles hadn’t called him first when shit had hit the fan even though 1) Stiles knew Scott was busy elsewhere and 2) said best friend had more than once failed to apraise Stiles of details, but that was clearly of lesser importance. Lastly there was the scary combination of Lydia and Isaac, both looking so gleeful it could only mean trouble and of course Derek who he’d just 12 hours earlier had been spooning. _Very intimately._

Now he looked like he wanted to rip Stiles to shreds if his death glare was anything to go by. And certainly not in a good way. Not that Stiles ever thought about Derek doing anything to him _in a good way_. Nope. No sir. Not at all.

Stiles was nothing if not an expert at delusions.

In fact the only person not making him antsy was Allison, but they’d never really been all that close in the first place and most of the time Stiles had no clue what was going through her mind. Not even Deaton, the only adult present was any kind of calming factor. To be honest he’d always found him on the wrong end of the creepiness scale in Stiles’ opinion. Not that anyone cared much what he thought. Well, Derek kind of agreed…

Okay, moving on!

Parrish had first seemed genuinely pleased when Stiles had fished out his phone and called his dad, but his brief streak of relief was now replaced by a deep frown and a nonstop muttering that was starting to grate on his nerves.

Deaton had flat out refused to go into any kind of details until the sheriff got there (“I’d rather not spend time clarifying this twice”) and had slithered down onto the couch and was perusing a somewhat battered copy of Vogue that Stiles assumed was a leftover from Cora. Though that didn’t really seem like something she’d enjoy. Stiles had a hunch she was a secret Manga geek.

His heart plummeted down to his lower intestines when he realized it was probably Jennifer’s. He quickly shot the thought down.

He forced his attention back to Parrish who looked about as joyful as an old moldy rag. He was also still tied to the chair and _crap_ , his dad would probably not take too kindly to that. And besides his wrists looked raw and red, and there was no way he was getting past three werewolves anyway. And they’d kind of treated him beyond appallingly bad all things considered.

Stiles gestured for Scott to join him and his friend arched an eyebrow but padded over without question.

“I think it’s safe to remove the ropes,” said Stiles with an apologetic glance at Jordan who immediately stopped muttering, his eyes widening hopefully.

Scott scratched his uneven jaw and nodded. “Yes, you right.” He turned towards Jordan and grinned lopsidedly. “I’m really terribly sorry man for all of this. I get that you’re kind of pissed off and wants to flay us all, but I hope you’ll keep an open mind and wait until we’ve explained things.”

Scott was bestowing the deputy with his most innocent puppy dog stare, and Stiles knew firsthand that even the most coldhearted of villains and teachers (surprisingly often teachers turned out to be villains – he should definitely look into that) seemed to turn to putty when exposed to the full force of the puppy eyes, the floppy hair and the uneven jawline of one Scott McCall. Stiles couldn’t help but silently applaud his friend. He sure could fool the best of them into thinking he was unthreatening and slightly dim, when he was in fact at times even more calculating than Stiles.

Jordan still didn’t look completely convinced, but gave a curt nod.

“I really am sorry too,” added Stiles, scratching the back of his head nervously. “The kidnapping and forced drugging was in hindsight slightly over the top, but we’ve sadly learned the hard way to always err on the side of caution. As an officer of the law I hope you can appreciate that.”

“What about the concept of ‘ _innocent until proven guilty’_ ”, snapped Parrish and Stiles winced?

“Touché,” he said with a shrug. “I see your point, but I hope you’ll get it when you hear the whole story. Now, how about we find some scissors or a knife would also do. Honestly, I don’t even know if Derek has any.”

Scott snorted. “Why would he? There’s no need for that when you’ve got a set of these.”

He whipped out a hand, claws and all. Parrish gasped audibly and stared transfixed as Scott slid through the ropes with ease using just a single claw. He grinned proudly, slapped Parrish on the back (sans claws) and walked back to Allison who was watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.

“Welcome to the world of lycanthropy,” said Stiles deadpan and waved his hand with a flourish at the room at large. Parrish just stared wide-eyed at Scott’s retreating back.

“Your friend has claws,” he managed after a minute of silent gawking. Stiles pursed his lips and shrugged.

“He does. In fact several of them do. The novelty wears off after a while though. Be glad you’ve entered this mess at this stage – he’s more or less docile now, although it’s all still a learning process. The only one who’s got any kind of life long experience with this shit is Derek. Oh, and his creepy uncle Peter, but he doesn’t count. Nobody likes him.”

Parrish began muttering again, and Stiles could virtually feel Derek glaring a hole in the back of his hoodie. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that yes he was in fact glowering. He chose to ignore it.

“So, wait, if your friend has claws and lycanthropy really is a thing –“

“It is,” said Stiles with an elaborate head nod. “Trust me on that.” Jordan still looked skeptical but he could tell he was coming around.

“Okay, so werewolves are real – can’t believe I just said that – anyway, if they are real, then I suppose it’s possible that fairies are real as well.”

His face morphed from confused to stricken in less than a second.

“Oh my god, is Derek Hale right? Am I a dangerous soul sucking sexual predator? Oh, lord your neck!! Did I do that?”

Jordan had moved out of the chair and grabbed hold of Stiles shoulder, turning him to the side to get a better view of the array of colorful bruises disappearing down under his t-shirt.

“Oh crap, I’m so sorry,” wailed Parrish and slumped back down, hiding his face in his hands and rocking back and forth. Stiles was momentarily at a loss of what to do. He glanced helplessly at Lydia who simply tossed her hair and mouthed _‘this is your mess_ ’. Sometimes she really was a strawberry blonde goddess of no help what so ever.

“Yeah, about that,” began Stiles nervously, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair making it stand on end. “Truthfully, this is your handiwork –“ Jordan moaned and seemed to curl in on himself – “BUT, “ continued Stiles desperately and crouched down beside the chair, trying to make eye contact, “that doesn’t mean you’re a monster of any kind. Please, please, please refrain from going off the rails until my dad gets here. We’ll explain it all I promise, and we’ll figure it out.”

Parrish didn’t seem particularly comforted and Stiles cursed silently. “Besides,” he added with false cheerfulness, “it’s not as if I didn’t enjoy getting these you know. So all in all, there’s nothing to worry about really.”

A loud thud followed by someone clearing their throat very pointedly broke the moment, and Stiles turned to find a sullen Derek gesturing towards a box.

“Hang on a minute,” he said to Jordan and stalked over pinning the former alpha with an annoyed glower.

“What’s your problem?” he spat. “We’ve treated him like crap and I’m trying to rectify the situation and you’re spending time acting all sour and constipated. Would it kill you to apologize? Or as a bare minimum stop with the glares of Mordor.”

Derek didn’t answer, just stared at Stiles, and it soon became very uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to anyone paying that much attention to him, and Derek was very intense, and worse of all he had no idea how to read him when I was in this kind of a mood.

“Fabulous. The silent treatment.” Stiles nodded, deciding that sarcasm was the way to deflect. “Good to know you’re making progress within the field of human interaction.”

“I thought this might help,” said Derek after another minute of intense staring in which Stiles squirmed, fidgeted and flailed, but never broke eye contact. Derek nodded towards the box on the table, then turned around and stalked back towards the kitchen area.

Someone cleared their throat and Stiles turned to see that everyone was in fact looking at him.

“What?” he asked Scott, but he didn’t bother to wait for an answer when he realized what it was Derek had retrieved.

“Sweet!” he crowed and dived for it. “This’ll make things so much easier.”

**

 

His dad arrived 15 minutes later, looking if possible even more harried than before. As always it was somewhat amusing watching him interact with Derek. The whole process was more body language than anything else and included a lot of posturing and glowers with excess use of eyebrows. Stiles had no idea what it was all about, but it was entertaining if nothing else.

“Oh crap. Stiles!!!” was his dad’s opening line. “I see a _chessboard_. Why is there a chessboard here? That never bodes well. Tell me this does not mean what I think it means?”

The sheriff was eying the board Derek had provided and that Stiles had spent the previous minutes setting up and labeling pieces in various colors.

“Hey, dad, daddy-o,” said Stiles with a singsong voice that made the sheriff roll his eyes and sigh deeply. “Nice of you to join us. Please step forth and grab a chair. And yes, it is a chessboard, and yes again, it probably means exactly what you think it means.”

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” the sheriff muttered but approached the table nonetheless. He refused the chair though.

“I’m slightly comforted to see that you’re present, Deaton,” he continued with a nod towards the vet who returned it curtly. “But frankly, I’m not looking forward to this.”

“You wound me, dad,” said Stiles with a fake pout.

“Cut to the chase, son, I’ve got a murder to solve and a sheriff’s station to run. Speaking off –“ His gaze landed on Parrish who were doing his level best to appear invisible, but was failing epically.

“I thought you were home sick.”

Jordan squirmed and Stiles, Scott and Isaac all began talking at once. His dad whirled around and glared at them and they instantly fell silent, in Stiles’ case accompanied with a complete mime of him zipping his mouth shut and throwing the key in the vicinity of the gaping hole in the wall. His dad looked utterly unimpressed.

The sheriff turned back to Parrish, arms crossed and face stern.

“I didn’t know you were in cahoots with any of these – “ he paused for a brief second before adding “ _characters_. Care to explain? Are you a hunter? That explains the impressive weapons knowledge at least.”

Parrish looked confused and didn’t manage much besides a lot of gaping. Allison came to his rescue.

“No, Sheriff. He’s not a part of any hunter family. In fact if you’d take a seat, we’ll try to explain it as simply as possible.”

The sheriff snorted. “If Stiles feels the need for a chessboard, I doubt it’ll be simple at all.”

Parrish whimpered and rubbed his face nervously. That caught Stiles’ dad’s attention.

“Dear lord, Jordan what is that?” He pointed at the angry red rope burns around his wrists, and Stiles jumped to his feet in a whirl of limbs.

“We can explain!!”

“Son, these are rope burns! Has he been tied up?” He glanced around the room and it was all pretty much confirmed when none of them would meet his gaze.

“Oh crap,” he repeated. “He’s _something_ , isn’t he?”

Stiles winced and wrung his hands nervously. “Kinda. It’s complicated.”

“When isn’t it?” muttered his dad and sank down into the chair he’d refused just moments before. “Just tell me! Is he a Kanima?”

“What? Dad, no! What’s with you and the Kanima anyway? You have a weird fascination with it, and let me just tell you once and for all, witnessed by all these people, that you do not want another Kanima in this town. Scaly lizard people controlled by vengeful humans is not what we call good times, okay.”

His dad threw his hands up and leaned back tiredly. “Okay, duly noted. So them what is he?”

Deaton cleared his throat and glided forward offering the sheriff the manila folder with the test results. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll explain it all, sheriff.”

 

**

 

“So,” said the sheriff staring intently at the chessboard in front of him. “If I understand you correctly, there are different kinds of fae.”

Stiles nodded and leaned forward, pointing at a castle labeled 'Lydia'.

“Yes exactly, in fact there’re hundreds of sub categories, but for now we can concentrate on two kinds. There’s Lydia who’s a banshee –“

“Lydia wasn’t on the board before,” interrupted his dad. Stiles shrugged. “No, but she is now.”

“And what exactly is a banshee? And should I be worried that you’re involved with one? It's not contagious is it?”

“What? No! We’re not entirely sure what her range of abilities are, but she’s good at finding dead bodies and sense when someone is about to die,” Stiles offered with a tight smile. His dad rolled his eyes.

“Can she sense that I feel like murdering you right now?”

Stiles let out an indignant huff. “She can probably _hear_ you threatening your only child with murder, as we all can. Not being subtle there, dad.”

The sheriff sighed. “Sorry, it’s just a lot of information to take in. So Lydia is a death sensing kind of fae while Parrish over there is what exactly? Another kind of fae? Lydia has a yellow tag but his is only a pale tan color.”

Deaton smiled placidly and moved the pawn labeled ‘Jordan’ into position next to Lydia.

“It’s because he’s not fully fae, but he does have traces of fae abilities in him. I tested him quite thoroughly and the evidence points to him being a quarter fae at best. You’d be surprised at the amount of people who are in fact part fae and never even know. If you’re only a quarter like Parrish it’s unlikely that you’ll show any kinds of abilities at all. Unless they’re enhanced in some way.”

Parrish looked forlorn and lost, and Stiles could not fault him. Being overloaded by supernatural info like this was not easy, and finding out you’re partly one of them, was a whole other cup of tea. He didn’t envy him.

“So, he’s like Sookie Stackhouse?”

Isaac tittered and Allison seemed to be biting down on her lip not to laugh outright. Stiles looked scandalized.

“Dad!!! That’s a _True Blood reference_! Why do you know about True Blood, and oh my god, do we have HBO? And you haven’t told me about it?”

His dad ignored him and ploughed on.

“Okay, so you’ve been saying that some viscous fae type has been responsible for all the animal killings and the murder of Mrs. Watson, but it’s clearly not Lydia. So is this your subtle way of saying it’s my new deputy that’s responsible?”

Stiles jumped to his feet and shook his head so vehemently it actually hurt.

“No dad, we suspected it might be him for a while, hence the tying up bit, but he was here all of last night when Mrs. Watson was murdered and dumped at the Nemeton, so it can’t be him. But we thought it was best that you like, knew. That he’s somewhat supernatural – eh, _sometimes_.”

His dad laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, that’s exactly the kind of reinforcements I wanted. But I guess you’re right it’s better to know. But will this be a problem at work – I mean if I understand you correctly this fae type – _incubus_ did you say? Can seduce people and suck your soul dry. Sound like a Dementor to be honest. I want him to _protect and serve_ – not _seduce and kill_. And yes Stiles, I just made a Harry Potter reference – deal with it.”

Stiles slumped down in his chair again, muttering under his breath about dads and secret lives.

Deaton shook his head calmly. “That shouldn’t be an issue – like I said he’s clearly only quarter fae which means that under normal circumstances he should not have any more seduction power than any normal being with his charms and looks.”

“A fair lot, in other words,” muttered Stiles almost inaudibly but clearly the wolves heard. Isaac chuckled, Scott rolled his eyes and Derek – looked like he wanted to murder, well – _everyone_.

It was a curious reaction, but Parrish chose that moment to raise a tentative arm in the air that drew everyone’s attention.

“But, I don’t get how I can be quarter something with as good as zero abilities and still manage to – “ he glanced quickly at Stiles who was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights of an oncoming train of apocalyptic doom. Parrish thankfully didn’t linger and continued somewhat haltingly – “to, eh, I mean there’re chunks of time I’ve lost and clearly I’ve done something. How is that like, possible?”

He could not get any more red without breaking into another dimension of colors, and thankfully Deaton stepped in like the voice of reason he sometimes could be.

“Someone clearly took advantage of your inherited disposition towards the fae, and has managed to slip you an enhancer of sort. I found clear traces of several potent herbs as well as a generous mix of mistletoe in your system, but to what end this has been done is unclear. Perhaps it was just to test you, and the real reason is yet to be revealed.”

“Oh,” said Parrish. Stiles groaned. The mystery of Parrish was solved, but it was presenting them with a slew of other variables to consider. Like who was poisoning him and why?

By the look on his dad’s face he’d come to the same conclusion, and clearly they needed to sit down with Jordan and go over who he’d been in contact with and potential suspects. But that could probably wait until tomorrow. Jordan deserved a night home to rest up and process things if nothing else.

“Well, I guess that’s it for today,” said the sheriff and rose heavily from the chair and most of the others followed suit. “Unless there’re any new players on this board I need to be aware of?”

He studied it carefully for a moment, but didn’t seem to find anything weird.

“Why am I the king?”

Stiles felt his heart speed up and his cheeks redden at Derek’s question. Everyone turned from the board to Derek and back again. Lydia arched a perfect eyebrow and winked at him. Scott seemed slightly miffed.

Derek himself looked slightly taken aback, like he hadn’t really planned on saying anything but hadn’t been able to help himself.

“I mean,” he said gruffly, “it’s not like I’m an alpha anymore, so shouldn’t Scott be the king?”

Stiles shrugged and tried to put up his most indifferent facial expression. It was a lost cause and ended like it always did in a grimace.

“I don’t know? Does it matter? I just labeled all the werewolves with pink tags and stuck them on some pieces without much thought.”

“Mmmhm,” said Lydia meaningfully and Stiles felt a passing urge to flip her off. Not that it would help the situation. She’d probably laugh at him very cruelly and then subject him to a very cold shoulder treatment that would last for weeks. So not worth it.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed and ripped the label with ‘Derek’ of and stuck it to a knight instead. “You all happy?”

He was saved further scrutiny of his choice of chess royalty when his dad cleared his throat, and Stiles wowed to perhaps treat him to a burger. Low fat of course.

“Dare I ask how you found out that Parrish was a soul sucking sexual predator?”

Or not. Stiles was not treating his dad to anything at all, other than maybe his only child’s untimely death caused by excruciating embarrassment.

“Uh, the _hard_ way?” offered Scott tentatively and Stiles was officially doomed and was already mentally composing his final will and testament. Scott would get nothing, the idiot.

His dad was chewing his lips and looked caught between glee and horror. “Oh,” he said with a slight nod in Allison’s direction. “I’m so sorry.”

Allison’s eyes widened comically and she shook her head. The sheriff looked slightly taken aback for a second and glanced around the room as if looking for another possible solution. For some reason he skipped Lydia entirely, probably because he was still under the misguided allusion that she and Stiles was a thing.

“Oh,” he said meaningfully when he realized the rest of the room was all male. “Well, not that it matters one way or the other,” he said with a tired smile that seemed to linger on Isaac’s scarf. Stiles drew a breath of relief.

He shouldn’t have bothered.

His dad was halfway to the door when it opened and the murder twins sauntered in. Their eyes widened when they saw him, but only nodded politely and stalked further into the room. Stiles watched his dad’s eyes narrow for a moment and he couldn’t be prouder because he too could clearly detect grade A douchebags when he saw them. He’d re-evaluate that burger after all.

In fact all would’ve been honky dory, sunshine and pumpkin pies if Lydia and Aiden had possessed any kind of restraint and refrained from merging together in a whirl of arms and lips – at least until his dad had exited the premises.

No such luck.

It was like watching cars colliding and having no way of stopping the impending impact. Stiles knew his dad was no dummy – he was clearly under the absurd assumption that Lydia was the one giving him all the hickeys and Stiles had done nothing to correct him. Now however it was only a matter of time….

“STILES!!!”

And there it was. Stiles would be grounded for life.

He put up his most innocent facial expression, Bambi eyes and all. It had zero effect.

He turned around slowly only to find that his dad had removed Isaac’ scarf to display a perfectly bruise-free neck.

“It wasn’t you, then?” he asked in his sternest interrogation voice and Isaac cowered and shook his head. Damn pushover.

“No sir,” he stammered. “I – I like girls. Spesifically I like her.” He pointed at Allison who turned a deep shade of pink and Scott’s eyes flashed red. Not that his dad noticed. He was seething and casting very murderous glances in both his and Parrish’ direction. The ruse was up, the truth would come out and Stiles was a dead man.

“Of all the idiot, imbecilic, mind-numbingly stupid things you could possibly do!” his dad began in a chillingly low voice that always meant Stiles was in deep shit. He knew the voice well.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about gender as you well know, but I do care about proper conduct, and you my son –“ he ripped the scarf away in one swift move making Stiles almost lose his balance – “know perfectly well that I don’t condone any kind of personal relationships like this even between officers and certainly not between officers and my still underage son!”

He spun towards Parrish who had his head hung and looked like he might break down in tears at any moment. No one would fault him if he did.

“I’m disappointed in you too, deputy. I get that there’s an element of mind-whammy at play and that does excuse it to a certain degree, but still –“

He shook his head and pierced them all with stern looks. “I hope you’ll all keep this to yourself. If this gets out I can kiss this sheriff’s title goodbye once and for all and I think we can all agree it’s in this town’s and your interest to keep me in office. I already have one strike against me after the whole theft of police transporter debacle.”

He didn’t even wait for confirmations, but whirled back towards Stiles eyeing his neck hatefully.

“As for you, Stiles. You’ll have no interaction with either of these people for the foreseeable future. I want you inside as much as possible until these bruises have healed and I think it’s safe to say you’ll have no interaction with faes of any kind from now on.”

Stiles stared at his dad aghast. What the -?

“You’re kidding?” he asked helplessly. He couldn’t take it all away from him, could he?

He could.

“Does this look like a face that kids?” asked his dad with deadly calm. Stiles felt his world crumble.

“But, but, it’s not really –“

“I don’t want to hear it, Stiles!”

“But-“

“I said no!”

_“It wasn’t Parrish that did that.”_

The room fell silent.

Someone had spoken and it sounded like - But that couldn’t be true, because why would he _lie_?

Stiles just stared. And then he stared some more. And he wasn’t the only one. Everyone was staring. Derek however was looking at his dad with a determined look on his face, and his dad – well he just looked plain confused.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean it wasn’t Parrish that did that?”

The sheriff crossed his arms again; his face molding into his standard interrogation 101 expression. It was very intimidating. Someone drew in a sharp breath and it took a moment for Stiles to realize it was him and that he was holding it. No wonder he was feeling slightly dizzy.

His friends all looked shell-shocked and curious save from Lydia who was inspecting her nails with a very smug smile as if someone had just handed her a Fields Medal and the keys to Fort Knox.

Derek cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Stiles, but didn’t linger. Still the gaze burned hot, sizzled even, leaving Stiles feeling flushed and jittery. What was going on?

“I think you’ve just jumped to the wrong conclusion and are punishing your son for something he didn’t do,” began Derek, his voice oddly devoid of the hard edge he usually adopted when he became argumentative.

“Not that anyone should be punished,” he continued, “– it wasn’t as if Parrish did it maliciously and fae powers are hard to resist after all. Anyway – “He paused and seemed to steal himself for something and in hindsight Stiles had to admit he put on quite an act.

“What are you trying to say?” prodded his dad, and something about the way his stance shifted and his shoulders tensed made Stiles suspect he was bracing himself for something.

Something huge.

It certainly took Stiles by surprise.

“I’m trying to say that it wasn’t Parrish giving Stiles those hickeys. It was… it was _me_.”

You could hear a pin drop.

In fact a pin did drop. Or rather Scott dropped a glass and it shattered against the floor and spilled shards in all directions. No one seemed to notice.

Stiles must have blacked out for a moment, because when he came to his senses, his dad was talking to him – or rather _at_ him, but he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Because the world had most likely ended, because Derek freaking Hale had just told his dad – _the sheriff -_ a very untrue lie to get Stiles out of trouble, and it was, it was – !! Stiles didn’t know what it was, but it was of apocalyptic dimensions that much was certain.

“Stiles? Stiles? STILES!”

His dad shook him slightly and Stiles miraculously found his voice.

“Eh, uhm what?”

“How long has this been going on exactly?”

He didn’t look mad, though. Not really. Just – resigned and somewhat, maybe _disappointed_?

“How long has what been going on?”

“Oh my God, Stiles! Seriously, this thing with Derek? How long?”

How was he supposed to answer that? There was no thing with Derek. True, there had been accidental spooning with surprise boners, but _no_ _thing_.

It was Derek that answered and HOLY HELL!!

Was he?

He was!!!

Damn those werewolves and their soundless movements, because all of a sudden he was right there, and JESUS CHRIST he’d just draped an arm over his shoulders!!!

“It’s fairly new, sir.” (SIR??) “It’s only been a couple of weeks, a month at best.”

His dad was muttering something. Stiles could see his lips moving, but he had an arm – _DEREK’S ARM_ \- wrapped around his shoulders and it was blocking out _everything_.

“Well, I suppose it’s marginally better than my son dating a deputy. Honestly, the news of a deputy and the sheriff's underage kid would murder my career. This is not ideal, but managable. You do realize he’s still underage in the eyes of the law right? I don’t want to have to arrest you for anything even vaguely related to a violation of that. Those hickeys are borderline as it is.”

Wait, was his dad actually buying this? Like he believed that Derek Hale – male model worthy werewolf – would date _him_?

Derek was saying something, and his dad looked tense, but nodded. Next he knew he was marching out the door, Parrish trailing behind him with a forlorn look on his face and Deaton making up the rear, unfazed and as serene as a mute nun.

The door glided shut with a thud and then pandemonium ensued.

_“What the holy hell? Stiles? Derek?”_

Scott looked exactly like the time he’d shown up to school prepared for a chemistry test and it had actually been econ.

Stiles shook his head slightly, but it was hindered to go into full flail mode because Derek’s arm was still around him. It was actually rather nice. He could get used to it pretty easily, which was very unsettling and filed straight under “what the actual fuck”. Most of his life was archieved there though.

Somewhere deep inside the jumbled chaos of thoughts sword-fighting around his brain, Stiles found his voice.

“It’s just an act for my dad, dude,” he managed with a forced grin. “Right, Derek?” He nudged him in the ribs with his elbow and Derek winced.

“Sure. Despite being mostly annoying we honestly need Stiles’ help on this. His theories are more often than not at least close to the truth.”

“See!” Stiles grinned widely at Scott and proceeded to untangle from Derek. His side instantly felt cold.

“Is it though?” asked Scott. “At school today Isaac said you smelled like you’d rolled around on top of him.”

“He did!” insisted Isaac with a huff. “I’ve been practicing my scenting. He smelled like sleep and Derek all rolled into one. Probably one bed, and most likely Derek’s. Have you been _upstairs_ , Stiles?”

“Oh for Christ sake,” barked Stiles having lost all patience with this day. “Okay, sure. I slept in Derek’s bed last night – but it wasn’t like that. I only slept, and just because Derek wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch downstairs alone with Parrish in the room, in case he’d break out the incubus magic again. And yes – I’ve been upstairs and Scotty my bro – _60 inch flat screen TV_!”

“No way!” exclaimed Scott and Stiles mentally high-fived himself.

“Yes way! Game nights have officially been moved here. Isaac, you in?”

“And that is my cue to leave,” said Lydia daintily and fluttered her eyelashes at Aiden. “Drive me home? My mom is away at a conference.”

Aiden grinned wolfishly and they disappeared pretty hastily after that, Ethan following close behind. Allison tugged on Scott’s arm disturbing him mid-rant about something relating to Call of Duty and he followed her without protest, backing out of the loft with a lot of exclaims about controllers and cheat codes. Stiles was not even partially paying attention. Isaac sullenly made up the rear.

Next thing he knew he was alone. With Derek. And it was awkward as fuck.

“So,” he began tentatively snapping his fingers mock-casually. “Should I think up some cute nicknames for you, or are we going with the classics like ‘cupcake’ or ‘honey pie¨’?

“Call me any of those and I’ll drop you from the balcony,” drawled Derek. Stiles giggled.

“I’ll try to restrain myself. And by the way, thank you. You didn’t have to do that, and this will land you in even more shit with my dad probably.”

“I’ll live,” said Derek with a small grin.

“I’m sure you will. I on the other hand will probably be teased mercilessly by my friends and nagged to death by my dad. Fun times lies ahead. I should get home and rest up I guess.”

He picked up his keys and shuffled nervously on the spot.

“Thanks for saying the things about, you know, me being useful and stuff.”

“It’s the truth.”

He said it so matter of fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it really wasn’t. Half the time Stiles had trouble getting anyone to take him seriously, and not even Scott would give his theories a proper consideration before it was too late. Knowing that Derek still recognized that and actually found it worth something was incredibly heartwarming.

He managed a small smile. For once he was all out of words and Derek didn’t seem to need any anyway.

“Ok, _sweetums_. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” Stiles grinned cheekily and jogged towards the door.

Derek snorted. “Please, no cute nicknames. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Stiles paused with a hand on the door handle. “You will?”

Derek sighed and shook his head slightly, a small half smile playing on his lips. It was oddly mesmerizing.

“Your dad invited me to dinner.”

Stiles’ insides turned to ice. “Oh crap!”

**

 

Stiles woke up feeling warm. He slowly blinked awake and noticed it was still mostly dark outside. He hummed contentedly burrowing into his pillow determined to get some more sleep before the horrors of school commenced. He was not looking forward to that.

He was however startled when someone answered his hum with a deep sigh before a set of strong arms snaked around his midsection and pulled him flush against them.

Stiles’ whole body caught fire. He could feel where every inch of his body was in contact with someone else. Someone warm. Someone strong. Someone with a scratchy beard being rubbed against the back of his neck. Someone with a very noticeable boner.

Okay, so Stiles was officially awake. _Very_ awake.

And also very confused, because he absolutely most certainly quite definitely went to bed last night all by his lonesome, only accompanied by a slew of incredibly  confusing thoughts of Derek Hale who apparently was his new pretend boyfriend. Stiles couldn't believe it was only a year ago he was complaining that nothing ever happened in this town.

The person behind him hummed pleasurably and hugged him even tighter. _And oh god!_ Stiles moaned and trust back feeling the hard member fit perfectly against his ass. However it was, he had Stiles turned on and ready to go.

“Good morning,” his bed guest murmured and Stiles gasped but it quickly morphed into another moan because hot damn! _DEREK HALE_ was in his bed, humping his ass and turning Stiles into 147 pounds of pure horniness.

“So very good,” mumbled Stiles meeting Derek’s thrusts with enthusiasm. “Best morning ever.”

Derek chuckled and the hand splayed across his chest began traveling slowly slowly south. He wholeheartedly hoped his dad was either fast asleep or already gone for work, because there was no way Stiles would be able to keep quiet if this kept going. And it was definitely going! Oh lord. Derek’s hand continued down his stomach going antagonizing slow, dipping a finger into his navel suggestively.

“What are you even doing here,” panted Stiles half his brain already malfunctioning. Derek licked a trail up his neck before latching on to his ear lobe, his breath setting every nerve ending in his body on fire.

“Waking you up,” murmured Derek between kisses and bites. “Are you up yet?”

His hand had reached Stiles’ happy trail and YES! Follow the trail!! It felt like a lifetime but finally strong fingers reached its goal and Stiles died a little when Derek wrapped his hand around his cock.

“Oh yes,” he panted licking down Stiles’ neck, biting into his shoulder playfully. “You’re definitely up.”

“Stiles!”

“Oh my god, that feels - never stop doing that!” He arched into the touch urging him to move already.

“STILES!”

“Yeah, that’s my name. God you feel good, never stop! Sweet lord.”

“Son, are you up? Oh for crying out loud! Stiles! That was more than I needed to see.”

Stiles was abruptly pulled back to reality and blinked blurrily up just in time to see his dad turn around a hand over his eyes.

“Sorry to barge in, son but it’s time to get up. I want to talk to you before you leave for school. Please take care of – _that_ , and get downstairs as quickly as you can.”

Before Stiles had managed to process half of what his dad was saying, he’d exited the room and could be heard more or less sprinting down the stairs.

Stiles curled down with a heavy sigh, dick still aching and begging for release, but his mind too fucked up with lingering images of stubbled cheeks and roaming hands to do anything about it.

True he’d been subjected to a lot of dirty dreams lately, sometimes mixed with semi-scary Nemeton motifs, but he’d chalked that up to  a bad case of incubi whammy. But this was new. He’d never had a dream like this about Derek.

Well, that was not strictly true. But he’d never had such a _vivid_ dream about Derek and it seemed different somehow. Not that it mattered much one way or the other. There was nothing going on with Derek anyway aside from the potenitally disasterous case of fake boyfriends. Stiles was definitely living in a bad romcom.

“STILES!”

His dad really had an impressive set of lunges, and it spurred him into action. “I’m up!” he yelled back and more or less face-planted out of the bed.

“In every sense of the word,” he muttered sarcastically with a glance downstairs. “We need to do something about that.”

 

**

Ten minutes later Stiles was showered, dressed and perfectly boner-free thank you very much. Which meant it was time to face the music or rather his dad.

He’d managed to avoid The Talk last night by spending an hour driving around town and stopping at the Kwik-E mart for the largest milk shake in Beacon Hills and the sheriff had been down for the count when he returned. There was however no avoiding him now. He was sitting at the kitchen table a piece of toast at hand and a steaming cup of coffee before him. A similar spread was set out for Stiles.

Oh joy. A Stilinski Breakfast.

Stiles braced himself and slumped down in the opposite chair. His dad was nipping daintily at his coffee and scrutinizing his son over the brim of his cup. It made Stiles antsy.

“I see you’ve abandoned the scarf today,” he said conversationally taking a bite of his toast. “I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag – or should I say _wolf_? – you can show your neck with pride, huh?”

Stiles had forgotten all about the scarf to be honest. He’d been too preoccupied with taking care of business and trying not to freak out about his nocturnal drean visions to even offer it a passing thought. It almost felt like he was losing his mind.

“What? No – Oh crap,” muttered Stiles his hand going to his neck on instinct. He wanted to melt into the linoleum floor he was so embarrassed. And his dad was wearing his damned poker face so it was impossible to tell which direction this conversation could take. Stiles was not optimistic.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, picking at his toast nervously. “I just forgot about it. Believe me, I’ll be wearing it until all this has cleared up.”

His dad smiled softly and Stiles drew a breath of relief. It didn’t look like he was in for a scolding. Embarrassing safe sex talks though he was counting on.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. The sheriff put down his cup and leaned across the table, meeting his eyes.

“Why?” asked Stiles bewildered. Surely it was the other way around.

“I’ve been up most of the night thinking,” began his dad quietly. “I hope you know already that I have no issue with homosexuality.” He stopped for a moment, seemed to collect himself and continued. “But maybe you didn’t know that. I don’t know. I just kept playing over and over in my mind that time I met you outside of Jungle. I shot you down harshly and coldly when you began insinuating that you were in fact gay. I thought it was one of your stupid ploys to redirect my attention, but I guess I jumped to conclusions. And I feel just plain terrible about it.”

There was something squeezing tightly around his heart and it was making Stiles choke up. He continued picking at the toast and soon it was just a mount of crumbles on his plate. His dad was awesome! He had the best dad in the whole world and he wanted to cry because Stiles was a horrible son who lied and then lied some more.

“I do hope you can forgive me, son. And please know that I’m not disappointed in any way. This doesn’t change anything, you hear me? Other than a revision of some of the house rules, but that would’ve happened anyway regardless of gender.”

Stiles snorted and hurried to dry away a tear, hoping his dad wouldn’t notice. He did, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m actually bisexual,” offered Stiles tentatively.

“Okay,” said his dad. “How long have you known? I hope you haven’t felt the need to hide this from me. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t tell me stuff.”

“I know, dad. And it hasn’t been that long. Just a couple of months or so. I never really considered it until recently, I was always so hung up on Lydia.”

“Really?” said his dad, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Stiles smiled and shrugged.

“I gather she has a new boyfriend?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “I wouldn’t call him boyfriend exactly. She doesn’t do boyfriends. Not after Jackson. To be honest I think she’s still in love with him. I’m over her anyway. I never told you this, but she kissed me once. It felt very weird.”

“I guess that was a bit of a letdown? I mean after all that planning and wooing.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. For a while I think I was more or less in denial. I never even told Scott. Because that would make it real, you know. And it was as if being in love with Lydia was part of who I was, part of my personality even. I don’t know. I guess that sounds lame.”

His dad laughed softly and laid a hand on Stiles’

“That’s not lame at all. I know firsthand how hard it can be to let go of someone. Even if they’re never coming back. You’ve done better than me, son. And thank god for that. But don’t think this means you’re getting out of telling me more about this Derek Hale business.”

“Daaaaaad,” Stiles whined mortified and squirmed in his seat. “I need to get to school.”  
“Nice try, school doesn’t start for another half hour, and I thought you’d perfected this concept of just in time anyway.”

“Oh, crap.”

“Start talking, sonny.”

Stiles had changed his mind again. No burgers for his dad - _ever_!

 

(as always you can find me on [tumblr](http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters made me do it!!!! Seriously, they have a mind of their own and before i knew what was happeningen this had morphed into a case of fake boyfriends!


	8. Awkwardness and bad knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Scott is a bit miffed, Stiles hurts his knee, his dad makes chicken, Derek makes pie and Stiles wants to die - several times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... summer holiday happened. Sorry for the long wait.

The itchy feeling wasn’t anything new. Stiles knew it well, it was part of him, part of who he was, and on the few occasions when it went away completely, he almost missed it. He felt wrong somehow. Incomplete.

The Adderall had helped dull it some, helped him concentrate. But truthfully more often than not he’d wondered if the medication was really necessary at all. He still flailed, tripped and let his mouth run away with him. The added chemical stimulation didn’t eradicate the itchy feeling either, just dulled it.

He’d kept at it though, mostly to appease his dad. Stiles had caused him enough sorrow as it was. If popping some pills could make him look slightly less worried then he could live with the unfortunate side effects. He didn’t need all that much sleep anyway. Stiles adapted. It was what he did.

So the itchy feeling he recognized instantly. What surprised him however was realizing that it had been gone for quite some time, and sensing it again was like a shock to the system. Stiles squirmed in his seat, shut out the sound of Coach droning on about inflation rates and the long term effects on macroeconomics and did his own calculations. The result astounded him.

It was almost a year ago that Scott had been bitten and Beacon Hills had gone from sleepy small town to supernatural hub and Stiles had been thrust into a whirlwind of lycanthropy, research, life-threatening situations, death and destruction. In all the hoopla that followed, renewing his Adderall subscription had somehow been pushed off his to do list entirely.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

Anyway. Now that annoying itchy feeling was back, but this time it wasn’t caused by his ADHD or accidentally taking too large a dose (it had happened.) Instead it was Scott McCall trying his best to stare a hole through the back of his head.

Scott had been uncharacteristically tightlipped when they’d met up at school earlier that day. Sure, he’d droned on about the history assignment he was terribly unprepared for and needled Stiles into showing him his notes, but it soon became very apparent that the topic he was itching to address were avoided to the point of awkwardness.

Stiles had tried to open it up for discussion by a halfhearted quip about how he didn’t appreciate being the damsel in distress and how Derek was a poor excuse for a knight, but Scott had evidently not found it all that funny. In fact he had growled menacingly and marched off to Econ with such purpose many of their fellow students had looked on dumbfounded.

And now he was glaring at the back of Stiles’ head and it was grating on his every nerve. He got the message. Scott didn’t like Derek interfering and certainly not with Stiles. Because… well because Scott didn’t like Derek – period.

Stiles was the first to admit that he’d been a smidge judgmental and distrustful of Derek at the beginning, but for all his grumpy exterior and monotone answers, he was all in all a standup kind of guy and Stiles had come to trust him.

Scott was not there. At all.

Hell, Scott was not even prepared to listen to arguments about Derek being someone to trust and depend on. Stiles had tried, but for some reason his friend seemed to have a massive blind spot for all of Derek’s good qualities and kept meticulous score of all his faults and errors. Stiles had been tempted to make a list of Scott’s failings and successes just to put things into perspective, but feared it would do more harm than good.

He managed to quell his urge to hiss at Scott to stop it all through their morning classes. At lunch they were joined by Lydia and Isaac, not that it made things particularly more tolerable. Lydia kept humming the theme song from Love Boat under her breath, making cryptic comments about ships that sailed themselves. Stiles had given up on understanding most of what she was talking about.

Isaac tried (and failed thanks to Allison who turned up soundlessly like the badass hunter she was) to steal Stiles’ scarf and kept making thinly veiled innuendoes about the hot dogs that the lunch ladies unenthusiastically had served them that day. He eventually stopped when Scott growled at him too, a tinge of red visible in his eyes. Stiles saw his chance and escaped to the bathroom for the remainder of the break.

He was totally a coward, but he had homework to complete and the lunch table was not giving off the right ambiance for school work. Not with the glare of doom, the smirking banshee and the obnoxious scarf snatcher all doing their level best to distract him. God they sounded like a travelling circus troop. It wasn’t far from the truth. Scott in particular was prone to unnecessary backflips.

Save from a couple of confused freshmen who tried to elbow their way into Stiles’ preferred stall, no one bothered him much. Greenberg came in and did number two a few stalls down temporarily fumigating the place, but still Stiles prevailed and managed to finish his Chemistry homework just in time for the bell that signaled the start of the afternoon classes.

When he walked into the classroom Scott was already seated and kept glowering at him all the way to his seat.

It was the final straw.

Stiles dumped into his seat feeling frustration oozing from every orifice and swirled slowly towards Scott not bothering to disguise how epically done he was with this shit.

“Dude, quit it!” he hissed.

Scott bared his teeth. There was a hint of fang. Stiles fought the urge to whack him with the chemistry book. It was a heavy tome, but would possibly do more harm to him than to his friend. Damn werewolves. (This was quickly becoming his daily mantra, though hardly with any soothing Zen-like qualities attached.)

“What are you talking about?” muttered Scott, a deep furrow etched between his eyebrows. He looked like a petulant child.

“Stop trying to glare a hole in me, dude. The darkness around my heart is more than enough. I don’t need this passive aggressive bullshit from my best friend on top of it. It’s not like I made Derek do this. And since you obviously aren’t going to ask, only _growl_ -“

Scott snarled as if on cue. Stiles rolled his eyes 360 degrees twice just to convey in the most obvious way possible how moronic he found it.

“I rest my case. Growling it is. Really mature. But for the record I’m not particularly happy about this situation myself. Sure it got me out of a tight spot with dad, but – and for Christ sake, Scott! _Your eyes are glowing!_ ”

Scott closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them they were back to normal. Still glowering, but at least perfectly free of any trace of alpha red.

“Seriously Scott,” murmured Stiles with a headshake so violent he was just steps away from giving himself whiplash.  

“Like I said,” he continued in a hiss, “I am not a happy camper. This is a shit deal, but it’s a deal marginally less shitty than my dad finding out about Jordan and banning me from all things supernatural – including you, buddy.”

“I know,” Scott managed to wheeze out although he made it sound like it was causing him physical pain. Stiles kind of hoped it did. He could be a sadistic jerk sometimes, okay.

“Then what is your problem?”

Stiles could sense more than see Isaac paying close attention to their conversation despite being four rows over. Lydia was hard at work attending to her cuticles and appeared aloof and disinterested. Stiles knew better.

Scott squirmed in his seat, slumped down so low his chin almost hit the desk and with his crooked jaw and grouchy eyes it was hard to believe this was the True Alpha, that if Deaton was to be believed, would bring balance to this cursed town.

“Dude,” he whined pathetically. “It’s _Derek_.”

Stiles scoffed. “You make him sound like an STD. And if that is the scope of your arguments against this little arrangement, then I’ve got news for you. It blows. And no!!!” (Scott looked like he was about to throw up violently all over the floor) - “not in the way you’re obviously thinking. For god’s sake Scott, get your mind out of the gutter! Did you know that my dad feels like a right shit because he once told me I wasn’t gay when I didn’t even know myself I was bi and was just spewing out lies to direct his attention away from the unconscious kanima we had stashed in the back of my Jeep and as a result he’s embracing Derek like a son in law and we’re having a god damned family dinner tonight. So I’m just marginally less screwed – and again not the way you’re thinking!! For Christ sake!”

Stiles gave up, whirled around on his chair with surprising grace and focused all of his attention on the Chemistry homework he’d just completed. And a good thing he did because he soon noticed with a jolt that he’d forgotten to put his name on it. As a result he was the only one looking even mildly studious when the dragon-like substitute teacher marched in sucking all the air and will to live out of a collective classroom.

He had to hand it to her. She was good – in an evil kind of way. Stiles couldn’t help but feel a grudging sort of respect for that. He still hated her with a fiery passion though.

And with good reason.

Just minutes into the lecture, Stiles watched in horrified fascination as she bore down on poor Greenberg for failing to recite the periodic table to her liking. It was like watching one of those nature shows his dad liked so much where some innocent Bambi thing was torn to shreds by something huge and feral with claws. It was not pretty and Stiles chose to ignore the alarming parallels to his own life. But Greenberg was openly sobbing now and this couldn’t possibly be in accordance to even the most liberal interpretation of the educational bylaws and regulations.

“Everyone put away your books. I don’t want to see anything other than a pencil on your desk or it will qualify as an immediate fail. We’re having a pop quiz.”

The classroom groaned.

“Eh, excuse me?”

As per usual Stiles was letting his mouth run the show. His brain was already regretting it.

“Mr. Stilinski, why am I not surprised? This better be good.”

Stiles cringed. If the teacher pursed her mouth much more it would turn into a knife, it looked that sharp.

“What about our homework assignment? Aren’t we going to hand them in? And you didn’t assign us any new reading material for today and we did a pop quiz last period as well. What’s this one on?”

She pierced him with a pair of startling green eyes and for a split second they appeared slit-like. Almost like Voldemort. Or a basilisk. He certainly felt paralyzed by them.

“Everyone will be handing in the assignment,” she wheezed. “Everyone except for you, Stilinski. Your impertinence has earned you an instant F. As for the pop quiz, that is for me to know and you to find out.”

“But, you can’t do that!” protested Stiles, arms wind milling.

The dragon lady turned slowly and smiled sweetly. It was the scariest thing since – well, actually it was the scariest thing. Period.

“Oh, but I just did. Now, Greenberg, you’ll be handing out the tests.”

Violently scribbling down the answers to the quiz (that he thankfully knew and would be acing – take that Mrs. Mordor!) Stiles silently wondered if she was in fact evil. She acted evil and she also had that evil look down path. With all the shit that was happening around the nemeton it was easy to suspect the newest and shadiest teacher at school. History had shown time and again that they often did turn out shady as fuck. But he quickly dismissed it. It was just too glaringly obvious. It was just too damned easy.

Nothing in Beacon Hills was ever that easy.

 

***

 

Stiles missed lacrosse season.

Cross country was so not his thing. He’d never been a graceful runner and although his stamina had improved somewhat in the last year, it really was a blessing in disguise when he tripped over a root and bashed his knee just 10 minutes into what was shaping up to be one of those horrifying half marathons in the woods that coach seemed so fond of. Easy for him when he was riding beside them on a fricking golf cart, blowing his whistle and spewing nonsense. But that was Coach for you.

“Stilinski! Why are you falling down? We’re supposed to be moving forward, not praising the ground. We’re runners, not Wiccans!”

“Sorry, Coach,” Stiles muttered with a grimace. His knee was rapidly swelling. Finstock gave him one of his patented bug-eyed looks, shook his head and blew his whistle scaring all wildlife in a two mile radius. Stiles’ ears were ringing.

“You better go let the nurse look at that, Stilinski. It’s swelling like a lump of dough. It kind of looks like a lump of dough too. Very pale dough, though.”

“Thanks, Coach. Nice to know you care.”

He got to his feet gingerly and winced. The pain was intense but the joy of getting out of running far outweighed it.

“I’m a very empathetic guy,” Coach declared solemnly, hopped up on his cart and sped off leaving Stiles in a spray of dust and dirt. He sputtered, cursed creatively and began limping back on his own accord.

After receiving some ice for his knee and a handful of ibuprofen the nurse ordered him to rest for a bit before driving home. She clearly had experience with high school students because she cleverly confiscates his phone, grinned sadistically (in Stiles’ opinion) and left him alone in the depressingly boring waiting area outside her office. Which meant he has to stay for the required 30 minutes and he couldn’t even kill time playing Candy Crush.

Ten minutes later Stiles had plowed through three unhelpful pamphlets on stress management and one about STDs that was bound to bring additional nightmares. He was bored stupid, hungry and his knee still hurt like a bitch.

That’s when Danny stumbled in.

“Oh man, you look terrible! What happened?”

Danny groaned and eased onto the other couch, holding a pack of ice to the back of his head, dried blood at his temple.

“Thanks, always the flatterer,” he mumbled. “Greenberg happened.”

Stiles winced. No more explanation was needed. The guy was a menace.

They lapsed into silence after that. Even if Stiles was itching to talk about _anything_ to make the time fly by faster, he was also a bit weary. After all Danny did bring him to Jungle and might even have seen him with Jordan, and if he talked and it got out… Stiles mentally flailed at the mare thought.

“Stop it,” Danny muttered almost inaudibly.

“Stop what?” Stiles’ good foot was bouncing out an erratic rhythm and he may or may not be biting his nails.

“Dude, I’m not even looking but I can sense you’re freaking out about something. It’s giving me even more of a headache.”

“Sorry.”

Stiles tried to get a hold of his limbs but as always they seem to be connected to something his brain had no control over. It was a thing not even Adderall could fix apparently.

He heard Danny sigh deeply and shifted around on his couch. Then silence. Until –

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The question took him so by surprise he actually yelped.

“Talk about what? Why would I want to talk? About anything? With you? And even more importantly why would you like to talk to me? You don’t even like me!”

Danny guffawed. Actually fucking guffawed. Stiles stopped talking at once. The shock was too great to keep a conversation going. Not that they were conversing. More like Stiles was word vomiting all over him and dear god even his thoughts were rambling. He was giving himself a migraine.

“I like you just fine, Stiles,” said Danny and tossed a small smile over his shoulder. “We’ve never talked much outside of class, and frankly you’ve had a tendency to disrupt me and that bugs me. Outside of class I have no problem with you. We had fun at Jungle that time, didn’t we?”

Stiles just nodded. Words were still failing him and the end was clearly nigh.

“Yeah, we did,” he finally managed. “We should do it again sometime.”

Danny continued to nod, wincing and then stopping with a groan. Greenberg had done a number on him. Stiles could see a real shiner on his temple blooming before his eyes.

“We should. But maybe without Dave this time.”

“Who?”

Danny snickered. “I believe you called him Jesus.”

Stiles shuddered. “Oh yeah, that guy. He creeped me out.”  
“He creeps everyone out. Besides, he’s in jail now anyway.”

“I don’t even want to know.”

“Good call. Didn’t you hook up with someone that night?”

Stiles instantly turned beet red and found a renewed interest in the pamphlet in his hands, this one on the dangers of drugs.

“Maybe,” he squeaked out. God his throat were dry as hell. And when the heck was that nurse coming back?

Danny glanced over his shoulder again, his face somber.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tease you or anything. I never even saw the guy. Are you still seeing him?”

Stiles shook his head vehemently and Danny arched an eyebrow.

“That bad eh?”

Stiles shook his head even harder and before he knew it words were tumbling out of his mouth, filterless and freely.

“Oh man, no! It wasn’t bad at all! It was _so_ _freaking good_. But then it turned out later that he works for my dad and that is like so so so not allowed, so I had to put a lid on that fast. But man he was hot like burning.”

Danny pursed his lips and tilted his head like a dog. But the great part was that he wasn’t laughing. In fact he looked… empathetic.

“Well that blows. Or he did?”

Stiles actually accidentally almost swallowed his tongue at that. Danny was – Danny was _awesome_!

“He did.”

“Nice.”

“More than nice. But no more, because I absolutely cannot risk dad’s career all because of awesome blowjobs.”

“I get that,” said Danny with a smile. “But why are you acting like a spaz now? If that is over, and your dad doesn’t know all should be okay, right?”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to guffaw, loudly but mirthlessly.

“Yeah, not so much, no. There’s…”

He hesitated. Telling Danny about Jordan without naming names was one thing. But how could he explain a case of pretend boyfriend without sounding like total psycho? Because without the supernatural element his situation wasn’t actually that bad.

“Eh, it’s just that I sort of have this new, well “ _boyfriend”_ , and my dad has insisted on meeting him. Tonight.”

“Ah,” said Danny with a small grin. “Now I understand your plight. I would be spazzing out too if that was the case. Anyone I know?”

“Sort of,” mumbled Stiles, wringing his hands and feeling a wave of guilt wash over him when he remembered how he’d used a shirtless Derek to get Danny to cooperate all those months ago.

“Do you remember my cousin Miguel?”

Danny snorted and shook his head again. “Oh man, I knew it! I always thought there was no way that was your cousin. Damn, I’m good.”

Stiles felt his cheeks redden. He’d thought he did a good job on that one. Stiles considered himself a masterful bender of truths. This was a dent in his record.

“What gave it away?” he asked grudgingly and watched in wonder as Danny’s eyebrows almost got lost in his hairline.

“Well, for starters the palpable sexual tension was sort of a dead giveaway.”

Stiles didn’t even have time to flail (though the blush grew exponentially) before Danny dropped another bomb.

“So, Derek Hale, huh? Not bad. I have to admit he is model level hot. At the time I couldn’t figure out how you knew him, but it all makes sense now.”

“Excuse me, what what what on earth do you mean it makes sense?”

This day was rapidly spiraling into yet another mind-blowing string of events. He felt nauseous.

“Oh you know,” Danny whispered conspiratorially throwing a furtive glance towards the door, “seeing as he’s a werewolf and all. But I guess it’s because of Scott, right?”

Stiles didn’t remember anything from the next few minutes, but Danny later informed him he’d passed out and then continued to ask if he was still in contact with Jackson.

Stiles may or may not have passed out again.

 

***

 

The Sheriff was busy marinating chicken breasts when Stiles finally made it home from school.

“Bad day, son?”

“What gave it away?” he muttered darkly heading straight for the refrigerator. He yanked it open making all the bottles and jars in the door rattle, retrieved a can of coke and dumped down in the nearest chair accompanied by elaborate huffs and groans. His dad arched his eyebrows but for once refrained from commenting on the caffeinated drink. Small blessings.

“Well, I’d say the crutches were my first hint and your thunderous demeanor the second. What happened?”

“Busted my knee during training, had to spend an hour at the nurse’s. Hurts like a bitch.”

His dad tsked and whacked him over the head with the dishtowel he’d just used to wipe his hands. Stiles yelped.

“Language there, sonny. That’s a dollar on the swear jar. Did you get anything for the pain?”

Stiles moved the bad leg gingerly, propping it up on a nearby chair. The nurse had taped a fresh pack of ice on it, and droplets were running down his leg.

“Just some ibuprofen. I think it’s wearing off already.” He bestowed his dad with his best attempt at puppy eyes and was awarded with a bark of laugh for his effort.

“Nice try. You can have some more before bed. Now, make yourself useful and peel these potatoes.”

He dumped a bowl of potatoes and a peeler on the table in front of him and Stiles sighed deeply but got to work.

For a blessed few minutes they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Stiles peeled and his dad was working on a salad and it was all blissfully domestic. Sadly his contentment was short lived.

Between his hurt knee and freaking Danny knowing _everything_ (he so needed to talk to Scott about that), Stiles had forgotten that Derek was coming to dinner. And if that wasn’t a recipe for disaster Stiles didn’t know what was. It would probably take his dad no more than ten minutes to realize it was all a sham because, hello! _Stiles and Derek?_ Not a good combination and more often than not prone to bickering and name-calling with the occasional shoving into walls. (Something Stiles recently had discovered he quite liked, but that was hardly relevant to this situation). In other words not what you’d call a healthy and functioning relationship.

Just the thought was making him antsy again, and squirming with a bad knee was so not a good idea. He needed a distraction.

“So dad, did you talk to Jor – eh – Parrish today?”

Stiles just knew his dad was rolling his eyes, something he always did when he tried to butt into his police work, but things were different now that he knew about all the things that went bump in the night. That made it much harder to keep him out and Stiles knew that just had to be very annoying for his dad.

The sheriff sighed deeply, turned around and set the salad bowl on the table and pulled out a chair. Stiles offered him a sip of his coke but he turned it down with a slight shake of the head.

“Yeah I did. He came in early this morning and we had a long talk in my office. He’s quite shaken up about all of this, and don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about the rather appalling way both you and Derek dealt with the situation. Honestly, Stiles! It qualifies as kidnapping and you’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.”

“Ah dad, come on,” Stiles whined. “Don’t pin it all on us. We knew just how out of control that fae thing could be and we didn’t want to risk it getting out of hand. People have died! We didn’t know he was coerced, I mean how could we? We thought he was doing it on his own you know. And besides, Deaton was in on it too.”

The sheriff leaned back, rolled his shoulders and Stiles could hear the joints popping. This was a sure sign of his dad being stressed. His neck always acted up on him when things got too hectic. He hated to have contributed to that.

“You need to get to the chiropractor, dad.”

“I know, I’ve made an appointment already. And yes, I’ve had a talk with Deaton as well. Or as much of a talk that you can have with that guy. He’s very….”

“Evasive? Borderline creepy? Scarily Zen?”

His dad laughed softly and nodded. “Yes, more or like all of the above. And he basically said the same thing. That you were acting preemptively. I guess that is better than the alternative. Anyway, luckily Parrish is as eager to get to the bottom of this as we are. Someone’s been drugging him and he has no idea who.”

“Have you started working on a list of possible suspects and a timeline,” asked Stiles, tipping his head back and finishing the rest of his coke. His dad nodded.

“Yes. He moved here two months ago after learning that there were openings here. Apparently he wasn’t all that happy with his boss at the previous precinct and wanted a change. Beacon Hills sounded like a cozy little town.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, about as cozy as a town built on a freaking hell mouth can be I guess.”

The sheriff gave him a weird look and rubbed his chin. “Are you comparing Beacon Hills to Sunnydale?”

Stiles almost fell of his chair.

“Dad!! Seriously? What’s with all the TV-series references lately? I mean _who are you_?”

He was awarded with an “are-you-serious” look that took his dad’s eyebrows on a tour dangerously close to his hair line, which was reseeding.

“Where did you ever think you’re obsessions with supernatural TV-shows, fantasy games and lore came from, sonny? Your mother? She would always moan and groan when something even vaguely “unnatural” was mentioned. She liked “The Little House on the Prairie”.”

Stiles fell silent for a moment. It was a very strange feeling, realizing that your parents were real people. People with interests, and more alarmingly interests that you shared.

“You’re going to give me access to your HBO account,” he declared crossing his arms for emphasis.

His dad chortled. “Maybe. If you can adhere to the rules regarding this boyfriend of yours and stop showing up with hickeys the size of eggplants.”

“Sounds fair,” Stiles mumbled feeling his neck go red. “Now back to Parrish. Tell me more.”

“Okay. So yeah, he decided to move here. Apparently when thinking back, Parrish said the decision to move came about more or less out of the blue. He just woke up one morning and felt a strange need to check the wanted ads and expanded his search for the entire state. He’d considered changing job, but had never considered moving this far. It was like he was drawn here.”

Stiles felt a small chill run down his spine, remembering all too well the warning Deaton had issued before they’d plunged into the ice baths. The Nemeton would be a beacon again, drawing supernatural things here. If it worked on someone who was just a quarter fae, he dreaded the implications. He didn’t mention it to his dad though. One problem at a time.

“That is weird,” he conceded with a frown. “But we all get those gut feelings every now and then, right. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His dad nodded solemnly. “I suppose. It’s not the most important thing right now anyway. Parrish tells me he’s mostly hung out with people from work. He’s provided a list. I’ve gone over it and 80 % is co-workers and I’ll be looking into them just to be sure. The other names here are mostly people working at his local grocery store, dry cleaning and gas station. He admits he’s been to Jungle a couple of times, but doesn’t know the names of guys he’s hooked up with, so not sure we will get anywhere with that. “

Stiles fought the urge to squirm and hid a blush by getting up and putting away the empty can.

“Do you have the list here?” Stiles limped back to the chair. His dad waved his hand in the general direction of his home office.

“I do. I’ll let you take a look at it in case you recognize some supernatural creature or whatnot.”

“You make it sound like I only hang out with Supes, dad. I have other friends you know.”

“Name one,” came the muffled reply from the other room and his dad came back seconds later waving a piece of paper.

“Allison is perfectly human,” said Stiles with a huff.

“Yes, and a trained hunter of supernatural creatures and the matriarch of her family at age 17. Hardly normal so that doesn’t count.”

Stiles grumbled and grudgingly accepted the list. “Danny is human – at least I think he is.”

“Danny who? I’ve never heard of a Danny.”

“He’s on the lacrosse team, dad. Goalie.”

His dad just nodded, apparently done with that topic. Stiles looked over the list but no one struck him as possible suspects. Half the deputies he already knew and couldn’t really see as part of this, and the rest he had no way of knowing unless he stalked them. And that was more Derek’s thing.

“I can get Derek and maybe the murder-twins to stalk some of these for a day or two to see if there’s anything suspicious about them. They don’t have much going on during the day anyway.”

The sheriff nodded. “Let’s run it by Derek later.”

Stiles felt his heartbeat skip and his cheeks redden. His dad was taking the Derek thing surprisingly well, and the way he talked – it was as if he’d already accepted Derek and was considering him a trusted allied. For some reason it was making him feel really happy. Like it really mattered. Which it didn’t, because it was all fake.

Right?

“Well, I better get back to the chicken and I suppose you have homework. Parrish is off duty by the way until we’ve figured this thing out. I can’t very well risk having him show up at work drugged up again and sucking people’s souls out unwittingly. So in case you need him, he’s holed up at his uncle’s house down on Pine Street. He’s been staying there since he moved here. His uncle is missing and no one in his family knows where he’s gone.”

“Who’s his uncle? I didn’t know he had relatives in town,” said Stiles getting to his feet, trying to put his backpack on without falling over or dropping the crutches.

“Why would you? And it’s Adrian Harris. I believe he taught at your school. Did you have him?”

Stiles dropped the crutches.

“Are you kidding me?”

He stared wide-eyed at his dad who looked slightly comical wearing a flowered apron and a dumbfound expression.

“Why? Do you know something?”  
Stiles laughed mirthlessly and restrained himself from flailing. It would only lead to him falling on his ass.

“Well, for starters the guy flat out hated me and put me in detention repeatedly for no reason whatsoever. Well, maybe not always without reason, but anyway… Secondly – “ he continued pointing a finger at his dad who looked like he wanted to comment – “he disappeared right at the time when Jennifer Blake, you know the _darach_ who practiced _ritual sacrifices_ , was killing off soldiers left and right. And Harris, he’s an ex-soldier, so we always thought he was one of the victims. But his body was never found, remember?”

His dad nodded. “Yeah, I remember him going missing, but I never connected it to that. It was before I was _informed_ if I recall correctly. Damn, I need to look into that. Do you think he might be lurking around, drugging his nephew and killing things?”

Stiles shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Didn’t he help Kate Argent as well, supplying info on how to burn down the house? The guy is sketchy and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he’s connected to the supernatural shit happening right now.”

His dad rubbed his temple and sighed deeply. “Well, that is the most solid lead we have. But I won’t be able to look into it until tomorrow anyway. And this dinner is not making itself. Now, go to your room and do some homework. Derek will be here at seven.”

 

***

 

Stiles did not do homework.

Instead he dived right into an intense google-session trying and failing to find anything of interest on Harris. Depressingly all he found was a Facebook page with a very unflattering profile picture, but it was friends only so no luck there. Harris also weirdly enough seemed to have a MySpace but that too hadn’t been updated since forever and gleaned little information of value. Other than that the only tidbit was a news article of him receiving a medal for valor and that he’d accepted a position at the high school. The accompanying picture was grainy but still miles better than the Facebook photo. Stiles printed it and pinned it to his wall.

“Never thought I’d do that,” he muttered and reluctantly gave up on the Google-Fu. He tried to start reading the new novel for English, but it was so utterly uninspiring he wanted to kick something after just two pages. In fact he did kick something, and it hurt like a bugger, because he’d forgotten about the bad knee.

He shot off a text to Scott informing him of Harris being Parrish’ uncle and urged him to put someone from the pack to watch the house during the night. Scott replied with a bug-eyed emoji and a ‘will do’.

Unable to focus on homework and unwilling to think about the fact that _Derek Hale_ was coming to dinner in a bit Stiles did everything he could to keep his mind off it. Reddit was a bust and Candy Crush couldn’t hold his allure for more than ten minutes. Even a visit to some of his favorite obscure supernatural chat rooms didn’t manage to entertain him for long.

As usual he ended up perusing his extended collection of porn to shut down his big brain and engage his little brain instead. It wasn’t until Stiles had pulled up one of his favorite movies and was well on his way to a very enjoyable orgasm that it hit him that Derek would be able to smell just what he’d been up to.

What surprised him was his reaction. Because where he was expecting embarrassment he instead received a second wind on the arousal scale and he came harder than he had in days Derek’s name on the tip of his tongue. That in turn brought back the memories of the dream he’d had that morning and his dick immediately showed signs of going for round two.

He shut those thoughts down fast, wobbled to the bathroom and cleaned himself up as best he could. Ideally he’d take a shower but the knee was still shaky and he didn’t want to risk standing on wet tiles. He had trouble remaining standing on a good day anyway, best not to tempt fate. Derek would just have to deal with the lingering scents like a good werewolf.

 

***

 

Promptly at seven the doorbell rang. Stiles had just managed to (ungracefully) descend the stairs and half hoped his dad would answer it. No such luck.

“Stiles, get that will you?” his dad yelled from the kitchen. Stiles swore creatively and shuffled forward.

“That’s two dollars on the swear jar!” sing-songed the sheriff. Stiles mentally flipped him off.

He wrung the door open with excess force and almost dropped his jaw on the front porch. He did drop one of his crutches.

“Are you wearing a shirt and tie?”

“Are you hurt?”

Their questions drowned each other out and in the end none of them answered. They did stare a lot though. The whole situation was ridiculous to say the least.

“Tie,” said Stiles. Derek shrugged.

“Seemed appropriate somehow. Seeing as I was invited. To dinner. Crutches.”

Stiles shrugged. “Seemed appropriate somehow. Seeing as I hurt. My knee.”

Derek rolled his eyes and then did that weird thing with his eyebrows that Stiles somehow knew meant he was more amused than annoyed. Huh.

“Well, you better come in so we can get this dog and pony show on the road.”

He made a sweeping motion that nearly toppled him over the shoe rack. Derek steadied him. Stiles’ heart skipped twelve thousand beats.

“You better not let your dad hear you talk like that if you want to keep this Parrish thing under wraps,” muttered Derek with a futile glance over Stiles’ shoulder. He shrugged and turned around without knocking anything down. Small victories.

“Don’t worry. He’s busy making the gravy. He claims it’s an exact science and I could pretty much say whatever and he wouldn’t notice. Unless I’m swearing. He always hears that. Here check it out.”

He smiled smugly at Derek and said semi-loudly “Oh my god, the garage is on fire!”

They could hear someone humming. Stiles grinned wider. “See? Nothing. Now listen. Oh fucking shit!”

“Stiles! Swear jar! Three dollars! That’s your third offence this afternoon. And you know what we say about threes!”

Derek seemed impressed. Stiles grinned.

“So basically, we just need to get through tonight, convince him we at least semi-like each other. Then we can “break up” sometime next week or something. Sounds good?”

Derek’s mouth was slightly pursed and the amusement was gone. Not that Stiles could blame him. Fake boyfriends was hardly a laughing matter. Derek nodded stiffly and seemed to find something extremely interesting further down the hall that he kept glaring at with laser like intensity. Stiles was just grateful to not be on the receiving end for once.

“You smell,” murmured Derek and wrinkled his nose. Stiles tittered.

“Why thank you, Der-bear. It’s Eau de’Spunk, do you like it?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively knowing it would probably irk the werewolf.

Derek’s eyes flashed blue for just a split second. “You’re incorrigible,” he mumbled darkly and Stiles chortled.

“Sorry about that, meant to shower but didn’t want to risk a full body cast if I tripped while I can hardly stand upright. I was a bit nervous about this charade and it was the only way I could think of to distract me. I’m a teenage boy. I have mighty needs.”

“You’re also mighty annoying,” groused Derek and flicked his ear. Stiles whined.

“I see you know my son pretty well, Mr. Hale.”

The sheriff had unbeknownst to them materialist in the doorway and was regarding the pair of them with a mix of amusement and apprehension. Stiles startled so violently he dropped his left crutch. Derek snatched it up before it hit the floor.

“Showoff,” muttered Stiles.

Derek grinned smugly. “Spaz,” he retorted deadpan.

The sheriff chortled and waved Derek into the living room. “I like you already,” he said approvingly and offered his hand. Derek hesitated for a split second, but took it.

“But just because I like _you_ , that doesn’t mean I have to like _this_.” He was still holding on to Derek’s hand – _firmly_ while gesturing between the two of them with the other. Stiles knew there was no way his dad could hurt Derek, but the meaning wasn’t lost on any of them. Stiles wanted to die. His dad was giving Derek _The Talk_!

The sheriff held Derek’s eyes for the longest time. Neither seemed inclined to break eye contact first. After a minute it was getting ridiculous.

“Oh for crying out loud, get it over with! It’s a tie, you’re equally badass. And I’m starving.”

It didn’t help.

“Is this my life?” he mumbled tiredly addressing no one in particular. They both answered with a “shut up, Stiles” delivered in perfect unison.

“I’m obligated to remind you that my son here is still underage in the eyes of the law. And I am the law around here.”

“Is this happening?” muttered Stiles and wobbled over to the dinner table. His knee was hurting again.

“I’m not delusional enough to think that age of consent will stop that little delinquent from trying to woe you into bed if he hasn’t succeeded already.”

Stiles wanted to die. He considered flinging himself on the cutlery. Derek was still holding his dad’s gaze but was looking uncharacteristically flushed.

“- however, I am an elected official and the rules need to be followed, at least publically. Secondly I know next to nothing about you, only that you’re a werewolf and I’ve arrested you before on suspicion of murder. I’m hoping this dinner will provide me with a bit more information.”

Derek nodded solemnly. “I’ll make sure everything is on the down low, sir,” he said somberly and if it hadn’t all been so utterly mortifying Stiles would be filming this shit, because he’d never seen Derek act this way. It was almost as if he meant it.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow and gestured towards Stiles who was busy trying to escape down into his scarf much like an awkward turtle.

“I’ve seen the artwork under that scarf and if that is “down low” I’m frankly a bit scared.”

“Dad!”

Derek finally admitted defeat and looked away. He stole a quick glance in Stiles’ direction and then returned his gaze to his dad.

“I’m sorry. We got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

The sheriff stared at him unblinkingly for a moment and then let go of his hand seemingly satisfied.

“Alright, Mr. Hale. See to it that you do, otherwise I’ll be carrying _you_ away. I’ve been in contact with both Deaton and Chris Argent. Consider me prepared.”

Derek swallowed audibly but nodded. Stiles was surprised to find he was still breathing. For a moment he was sure he would die of embarrassment.

His dad was halfway to the kitchen when he turned and grinned somewhat evilly.

“Oh, and you may call me John. I don’t think we’re quite ready for “dad” yet.”

 

***

 

After that things went relatively smoothly. The sheriff didn’t seem to suspect he’s being deceived, and when dinner got on the table the conversation flowed relatively effortlessly after only a few initial awkward moments.

Stiles had been scared his dad’s interrogation skills would be their downfall, but as it turns out he managed to coerce Derek into telling them about his years in New York. Stiles was surprised to learn that Derek has studied both History and Economics and that Laura used to work for an Art Museum.

They avoid all talk about the Parrish Debacle and the Nemeton Murders, and Stiles could feel a bit of tension drain from his shoulders as the meal progresses. Derek had brought pie and it was so delicious it has both Stilinski men moaning in ecstasy. Stiles wanted to proclaim marriage to the pie and that led to a string of American Pie jokes that quickly got out of hand. Sheriff or not, his dad had a dirty sense of humor. The pie compliments had Derek looking a bit flushed when he reluctantly admitted that he’d made it himself.

After dinner they were all so stuffed (his dad had three helpings of pie and had to swear to only eat vegetarian the rest of the week) all they could do was migrate into the living room. The sheriff claimed his usual spot in the threadbare chair he flat out refused to replace (Claudia had reupholstered it herself) forcing Stiles and Derek to share the sofa.

It was awkward.

It’s a small sofa and Stiles struggled to get comfortable both because he was acutely aware that parts of him that were touching parts of Derek and because his knee had gone from a dull ache to searing pain in the last half hour.

His dad put on a baseball game and it took less than a minute before he and Derek were in a heated debate about the two teams. Stiles used to follow the games pretty closely but the events of the past year had made his extracurricular interests suffer dramatically. He’s not even sure who’s at the top of the league anymore.

After a while they lapsed into silence, only once in a while interrupted when Derek or the sheriff cried out in anger or cheered boisterously at the going-ons on the screen.

Stiles fidgeted.

“What’s the matter?”

Stiles startled when he realized Derek had directed the question at him. He shrugged.

“Sorry. The pain killer is wearing off,” he explained gesturing towards the still swollen knee. He had awkwardly propped it up on the coffee table, but it was at an odd angle that did nothing to improve its sad state.

“Idiot,” murmured Derek sounding slightly annoyed. Next Stiles knew Derek leaned over him, propped two of the decorative pillows against the armrest and manhandled Stiles onto his back. The whole thing was accompanied by Stiles’ yelps and curses. The sheriff only smiled and mumbled “swear jar” without taking his eyes of the game.

“What-? Derek! Oh my god, what are you doing?” squeaked Stiles. He tried to sit up again, but Derek pushed him down. He then grabbed his feet and positioned them in his lap.

“Dude!”

“Will you just lie still? For crying out loud, Stiles! I’m trying to help with the pain, you little shit.”

“Little shit?”

He was met with twin eyebrows of doom and a half smug smile. It was both scary and arousing.

“I like you, Derek,” said his dad approvingly, sipping his beer as if this was entirely normal. Nothing about Stiles’ life these days was normal.

“Well, I don’t like either of you,” groused Stiles, but had to give up the struggle. Derek was too strong. He felt the werewolf place a hand on the bad knee and he winced in pain. Then he moaned in pleasure.

“I did not need to know that my son’s knees are an erogenous zone,” muttered the sheriff. Stiles actually laughed. The joyful, loud and high-pitched kind. Pain drain apparently made him giddy.

“Shut it dad. He’s taking my pain.”

“Lie still!” commanded Derek with the air of a person who’s patience was pushed to the limit.

“I am!”

“You’re like an eel, Stiles. Oh crap, you just kicked my thigh.”

“You’ll heal. In fact I’m betting it’s already healed.” The giddiness was fading, and he was starting to feel drowsy. Werewolf pain drain was the bomb.

“I’m gonna take a little nap I think,” he murmured and burrowed down into the cushions, curling his toes appreciatively as Derek continued to rub his feet.

**

Stiles was on a ship. It was a pirate ship, and the sea was frothing. Stiles was evidently not made for high tides.

“I’m gonna be seasick,” he mumbled incoherently. Someone chuckled.

“No, you’re not. I’m just carrying you to bed.”

That got his attention. He popped open an eye and got a perfect view of the ceiling. Because he was being carried like a freaking damsel up the stairs by Derek “White Knight” Hale.

“Oh no, this is not happening,” he whined pathetically. “Let me down, you bastard.”

“Nope.”

He even popped his P the fucker. Derek was clearly enjoying this. And Stiles was too tired to actually care.

“Oh whatever, just get on with it. I have an appointment with my bed. It’s sleepy time for Stiles.”

Derek snorted. “It’s been sleepy time for Stiles for more than two hours already. If I’d known you’d get high on the wolf drain I would’ve eased up.”

“Liar,” Stiles mumbled but couldn’t bother to put much effort into it. He was too preoccupied inhaling Derek’s smell. He may or may not have burrowed into his neck. (He did).

Stiles’ room was a mess as always, and even through his bleary-eyed haze he was he didn’t miss the way Derek’s nose crinkled when they entered. It probably still reeked of Eau’de Spunk. Stiles chortled.

“Your room is a hazard,” informed Derek as he weaved between stacks of books, dirty clothes, lacrosse gear and comics.

“Is not. It’s organized clutter.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re a werewolf.”

That seemed to end the argument. Or perhaps it was the fact that Stiles nodded off again. The next thing he registered was Derek looming over him as he put the comforter over him. Stiles burrowed into his pillow and moaned happily. Derek was wearing a tiara. It glittered.

He must have said it out loud because Derek actually laughed softly and patted his bedspread awkwardly.

“Get some sleep, Stiles,” he said uncharacteristically tenderly. Stiles grabbed his hand and squeezed. He didn’t let go. Neither did Derek. He was still glittering. Like freaking Edward Cullen.

“Did you remove my pants?” mumbled Stiles groggily. Derek huffed but didn’t answer. “Thank you for taking the pain, you’re awesome.”

Just as he drifted off to sleep he thought he heard Derek murmur “so are you.”

He’d forgotten all about it the next morning.

 

 

 


	9. An abundance of drag queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Stiles has theories, Scott is skeptical, Melissa is maternal, the Sheriff is at his wits end and the drag queens excel at finger pointing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! It's been a while since the last update and I blame it all on Teen Wolf meta! Also real life.

The next day Stiles woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed. In fact he woke before his alarm (a rare occurrence) and try as he might he couldn’t recall any nightmares about creepy tree stumps, lurking wolves or rotting bodies.

Still feeling the remnants of Derek’s pain drain tingling in his legs, Stiles vowed to get high on this werewolfy pain relief as often as humanly possible even if he had to fake a limp for the foreseeable future to get away with it.

In fact he made a huge production out of dragging his foot after him like it was nothing but dead weight, his face screwed up in what he presumed portrayed massive amounts of agony and pain when he entered the school. People stared at him like he was an alien, and honestly what was with the youth of today? Where was the compassion? And didn’t they know it was rude to stare at the crippled kid?

“You’re not crippled, dude.”

Evidently Stiles was doing that thing again where his thoughts turned to words without filter. Scott on the other hand was doing that thing with his face that was supposed to be serious and stern but came across as constipated. Both were well adviced to never pursue a career in acting.

“My knee says otherwise,” wheezed Stiles and fell against his locker making the crutches clatter to the floor. “My lacrosse career is probably ruined. I’ve blown out my knee. And I was banking on a scholarship and now my future is filled with debt and pain.”

Scott groaned. Stiles responded in kind and clutched his knee gingerly while trying to whip out his Econ book. It did not go well.

“And now my toe is hurt as well," he whined. "Come on, Scotty. Help a brother out will you, just take my pain already. Use that magic wolf mojo.”

“You look ridiculous,” muttered Scott and rolled his eyes. “You look like you're auditioning as an extra for The Walking Dead.”

“Preposterous. I really did hurt my knee yesterday. And the wolf-drain thing also prevents me from having nightmares. I’ve had the first good night’s sleep in like a year thanks to is, so you know - double the joy.”

Evidently Stiles should’ve led with that initially. Scott immediately went from mildly annoyed to concerned and empathetic in an impressive 0.2 seconds. Just too bad Stiles was now stuck with a very elaborate limp to not totally lose face. Not that Scott would be all that surprised to learn he was exaggerating just a smidge, but it was the principle of it.

Lydia Martin, the Killer of Joys, had no respect for such principles. She'd slithered soundlessly up behind him and when she spoke Stiles not only startled but also squealed shrilly and dropped his book – _again_. He swore creatively. Lydia pursed her lips and arched a resigned eyebrow. The supernatural elements of Beacon Hills sure had strong eyebrow game.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she began silkily, “but didn’t you hurt your _right_ knee yesterday? I saw you in the nurse’s waiting room with Danny and you had it iced pretty thoroughly.”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

Stiles almost fell on his ass trying to avoid dropping the crutches again, fishing up the Econ book (now in serious need of some scotch tape) while standing on one leg. Lydia let her eyes travel slowly down his body and paused at the knee – his right knee. Which incidentally was the knee attached to the foot he was currently standing on. And his _right_ knee was obviously the _wrong_ knee to be balancing on if it was injured.

Damned genius.

“Oh wow, would you look at that? It’s a miracle! I’m healed! Hallelujah!”

Lydia tutted and snatched away the crutches carrying them with her down the hall. Scott looked surprisingly unfazed by it all.

“It was worth a shot,” he said defensively. “I liked sleeping without nightmares. I’d like to do it again, you know. The wolf drain is all kinds of awesome to numb my mind.”

Scott patted him on the back and smiled sadly. “I get it, buddy. And I’d love to help you out, but unless there’s physical pain, it doesn’t really work. I can’t drain away darkness.”

Stiles chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I could like, fling myself down some stairs or something…”

Scott just glared at him.

Stiles sighed deeply. “Well at least I got one night of uninterrupted sleep. So this day better be freaking wonderful is all I’m saying.”

And for all intents and purposes it was.

Coach Finstock continued to hammer away at the concept of risk and reward, this time with a rousing game of Root Beer Pong. There wasn’t a student in the class that hadn’t grasped it at this point, and it was no secret Coach continued to bring in these kinds of games mostly to amuse himself. Today even Greenberg was rewarded with a rare treat in form of high praise.

“That was actually only borderline terrible, Greenberg,” said Coach with his patented bug-eyed stare and something vaguely reminiscent of a smile.

“Still utterly bad of course. Subpar in fact, but not _terrible_.”

Greenberg began hiccupping violently, evidently not accustomed to such positive feedback and was promptly sent to the nurse’s office. Stiles who loved root beer missed all the cups on purpose and came out of class with a profound root beer belly, a sugar high and no homework.

All in all Stiles suspected it was all too good to be true.

English went by in a breeze and Stiles got an essay back with A+ that had him fist-pumping and high-fiving half the class. Even Scott had managed a strong B and Isaac seemed pleased enough with his B-. Lunch was a sad affair but that was state school cafeterias for you. Miracles never happened there.

The only black cloud on an otherwise glorious day (in as far as school days at a high school ever classified under “glorious”) was Chemistry with Mrs ScaryFreak.

“What’s her name again?” asked Stiles absentmindedly. He was checking his phone every ten minutes. He wasn’t quite sure what he was waiting for.

“Who?” asked Scott. He was once again mesmerized by the bounce in Allison’s curls as they filed down the corridor.

“The Chemistry teacher from hell, dude,” said Stiles and snapped his fingers in front of Scott’s face. “She’s worse than Harris.” He paused momentarily and Isaac walked straight into him, the curse words thankfully muffled by his fluffy scarf (today a shade of olive green).

“I never thought I’d say that. Harris was the worst. This is so sad. And scary.”

“Her academic level is more than sufficient,” said Lydia hoitily. “But I do agree, her demeanor is subpar and the learning environment dismal.”

“She’s a bully,” said Stiles venomously.  
“She’s worse than my dad,” muttered Isaac and that effectively capped that conversation.

Ten minutes after the bell Mrs ScaryFreak still hadn’t showed and Stiles was seriously starting to believe his luck really had changed. And when not even Lydia seemed interested in alerting the administration to the missing teacher the entire class embraced the unexpected free period by having Greenberg (now perfectly hiccup free) get the ping pong table from Coaches office for another round of Root Beer Pong.

 

***

Cross-country practice was cancelled that afternoon.

In hindsight indulging in another round of Root Beer Pong had probably not been the best idea. Stiles was lucky that Lydia had forbidden him to participate after he, in a sugar-induced haze, had attempted to stage-dive off the teacher’s desk. He’d beaten Isaac and his glee could not be contained. Except by Lydia, of course.

Greenberg had not fared as well. His poor coordination was more well-documented than the Kardashians, and he’d ingested so much root beer he finally doubled over with a crippling stomach ache and bashed his head on the ping pong table in the process. Finstock had to take him to the hospital and left the rest of the class verbally scolded and the cross-country practice cancelled for the day.

Stiles felt seminally bad for Greenberg, but was so ecstatic about his Lucky Day® it overshadowed everything else. He was determined to exploit it to its fullest capacity. The luck could run out any moment, and he needed to enjoy it while it lasted.

This was why he was now sprawled across one of the sofas at Scott’s house a limp piece of pizza dangling from his mouth, playing a rousing round of Call of Duty. Scott had agreed whole-heartedly that this was the ultimate way to enjoy the unexpected free afternoon, and he was now draped across the other sofa, looking more like a teenage slob than a True Alpha. Stiles vastly preferred this Scott.

“You boys are disgusting.”

Both startled. The volume was turned high and not even Scott’s wolfy ears had noticed Melissa entering the house.

“Tell me you’re not ditching practice. Do I need to sit you two down for a talk about responsibilities?”

“No, mom.” Scott rolled his eyes like a good teenager should. “Practice was cancelled, so we’re catching up on some bro-time.”

“Yeah, recent developments in our lives have severely cut into our quality gaming time. We’re making up for lost time,” supplied Stiles with a cheesy wink that he knew from experience made Melissa shake her head and huff. Not this time though.

“Oh yes, I heard about these so-called _recent developments_. I had a talk with your dad, Stiles. I guess congratulations are in order.”

She beamed at him. Stiles felt very confused.

“Eh, thanks? What for exactly?” He shared a look with Scott but he looked equally muddled.

“What for? Seriously? I’m talking about Derek and you, silly. I’m very happy for you.” Melissa smiled maternally. Stiles blushed to the tips of his toes. Scott groaned.

“Mooooom,” he whined. Melissa threw him a nasty glare.  
“What? Am I not supposed to care that your best friend is in a relationship?”

Scott bristled. “That’s not what I meant, mom. But it’s just awkward and embarrassing. Look at him, he’s all red.”

This only seemed to melt Melissa further. She slithered down in the sofa next to Stiles, draped a hand over his shoulders and ruffled his hair. Scott looked like he wanted to step in front of a semitrailer.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie,” she crooned. “I don’t know Derek very well, but I have to say you have excellent taste. He’s really handsome. The word “hot” comes to mind.”

“That’s it!”

Scott got to his feet and stalked towards the kitchen. “I’m getting something to drink and then I’m going to go hide in my room. Come find me when this-“ he gestured between his mom and Stiles “is over.”

“Don’t mind him,” said Melissa soothingly. “I don’t think he’s homophobic exactly, not intentionally anyway. It’s more the fact that you’ve always been there, but now he’ll have to share you with someone. Much like you’ve had to share him with Allison for some time.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “I did not get shared custody in Scott’s case. More like limited visitation rights. And it’s not like that with this thing…”

He hung his head and played absentmindedly with the strings to his hoodie. He hated lying to his dad, but lying to Melissa was almost worse. And even more awkward.

Melissa smiled. “Oh yes, Scott became very single-minded when Allison entered the picture. Be glad you didn’t live with him.”

“I heard that!” Scott shouted from the second floor and Stiles and Melissa burst out laughing.

“Well, he did deserve that. But it’s okay to be in love and be stupid about the other person. And I stand by my assessment – Derek is hot.”

“Mom!”

Melissa rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Excuse me, son but he is. And stop eavesdropping!” She turned to Stiles again, who had applied a fresh coat of blush.

“Oh, sweetie no need to be embarrassed. And I’m just making a casual observation about the state of your boyfriend’s hotness. You don’t agree?”

Stiles snorted. “Oh I agree. Very much so.”

“STILES!”

“I think we need to muffle him,” sighed Melissa. “Anyway, it’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable, Stiles. Just wanted to say congratulations and also give you this.”

She handed him a brown paper bag with a flourish. Stiles raised an eyebrow, and accepted it hesitantly. Brown paper bags were seldom a good sign…

“Oh my god, is that…. _lube_?”

Something crashed upstairs and Scott was heard cursing. Melissa looked scandalized.

“No you idiot, that is not lube. Honestly! It’s aloe vera. I’ve seen Derek’s stubbly face and that is bound to leave stubble burn. My god, your mind…”

She got to her feet and left the room shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Stiles stuffed the bag in his backpack and trudged up the stairs. Scott met him with clenched teeth.

“Let’s not talk about that,” suggested Stiles. “Ever.”

Scott accepted the deal with a nod.

**

 

It was a testament to their friendship that they managed to leave the awkward episode behind them with ease and just minutes later their attention had turned to the fae problems that were still unsolved.

“I don’t know, man,” said Stiles as he caught the hacky sack ball he and Scott were tossing back and forth from opposite sides of the bed. “I’m starting to think we’ve got it all wrong. I mean, it all pointed to some sort of fae especially with the incubus thing, but now that we know someone drugged Parrish to get him to act like that, I’ve got a feeling we’re being played.”

Scott looked thoughtful, clutched the ball for a moment and tossed it back.

“But what’s the alternative?” he asked. “The only leads we have suggest it’s fae related, so I say it’s risky of us to abandon that.”

“I’m not saying we need to abandon the theory all together,” responded Stiles tiredly. “But it wouldn’t hurt to expand the search a little. Think outside the box for a moment. I just don’t see how some fae would need to drug a quarter fae to do its bidding if it has the ability to do it itself.”

Scott still looked skeptical. “Perhaps he or she just didn’t want to get their hands dirty.”

“Maybe,” said Stiles. “But my gut is telling me we’re off track. And I seriously think we should start cataloguing all the teachers at school. They’re alarmingly often involved and especially the new ones. And Mrs ScaryFreak is certainly evil. Maybe even supernaturally evil.”

He waggled his eyebrows and threw the ball. It curved way off to the left but Scott somersaulted off the bed and caught it with a flourish.

“I don’t remember any Mrs. ScaryFreak.”

Stiles almost fell off the bed flailing. “Oh my god, Scott! That’s not actually her name! She’s just _scary_ and a _freak_. I’m talking about the Chemistry teacher.”

“Oh, you mean Ms. Sherlock?”

Stiles fell to the floor. “ _Sherlock_? Seriously?”

Scott nodded.

“That is… that is like a bad fanfic.” Scott looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

Stiles clambered to his feet and straddled Scott’s swirly chair. “Harris goes missing during the Darach Debacle and the first substitute we get, not counting the darach herself of course, is Mrs. Watson. Who then is kidnapped and later found dead on the nemeton. Then we get a new teacher, this one called Ms. Sherlock.”

Scott still looked confused.

“Seriously, Scott! Sherlock and Watson! Sherlock Holmes! Dr. Watson! Murder and mysteries!”

“Mrs. Watson was a doctor?”

Stiles threw his hands in the air and began pacing the floor. “You my friend need to brush up on some classics. I’m adding it to The List right under Star Wars marathon. Also, this started when Harris went missing. I always knew he was evil and now it looks like all his predecessors are as well. There’s something here, I just know it! And as it turns out Jordan is Harris’ nephew. This is too much for it to be just coincidences, Scott.”

“But Harris is dead, right? Didn’t Jennifer kill him? I thought he was one of the soldier sacrifices.”

Stiles stopped and pointed intently at Scott who cringed back. “Ah you see we _assumed_ he was a sacrifice and we _assumed_ he died. What if he didn’t? His body was never found. The other darach murder victims' bodies were left scattered all over town. Why is Harris different?”

Scott scratched his head and smiled that half smile that Stiles knew meant he thought Stiles was off his rocker. He hated that smile.

“But if Harris wasn’t a soldier sacrifice then she’s one short. But still she got the power. It doesn’t make sense, Stiles.”

Stiles chewed his lip and spun on the spot. He was missing something, he just knew it…

“Boyd!”

“Excuse me?”

Stiles was jumping up and down. It was so obvious really. “Boyd was the third soldier sacrifice. He was in ROTC with Kyle; you know the first victim.”

“Stiles…”

“No no no, don’t _Stiles_ me. I seriously think we should look into Harris more. He might still be alive and perhaps he’s the one behind all this. I don’t know why exactly, but if he was evil enough to help Kate then I’d say he’s capable of anything.”

Scott shook his head. “It’s a great theory, but it’s just a bit … _farfetched_. You see that right?”

Stiles just stared at Scott. Their lives were embedded in mindboggling, doused in implausible and married to ‘no freaking way’ and he worried about farfetched?

“You’re an alpha werewolf, Lydia is a banshee, Jackson used to be a human-sized lizard and we’re guarding a magical tree stump. _Everything is farfetched_. This theory really doesn’t rate all that high on the freak-o-meter that is our lives.”

Scott shrugged and tossed the ball at Stiles’ head. It bounced off and landed with a dull thud on a plate of half-eaten salsa.

“I just don’t think we should spend time on one of your hunches when evidence is pointing in the direction of faes.”

“My hunches are awesome! I called Matt from the get go!”

Scott looked like he was about to launch into a counter argument when Stiles’ phone peeped shrilly announcing an incoming text. Stiles’ heart immediately sped up and he hurried to fish it out of his pocket accompanied by much flailing of the arms.

“Dude, your heart is pounding like crazy.” Scott looked mildly concerned. “Are you expecting bad news?”

Stiles aimed for a casual shrug but suspected it looked more like a small seizure. Honestly he was a bit surprised by his own reaction. He’d been checking his phone all day, not really knowing what he was waiting for. When he opened it and read the message disappointment washed over him like a tsunami. Whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.

“Don’t tell me your sexting with Derek,” mumbled Scott and flung himself back on the bed with a put-upon expression.

“Hypocrite,” responded Stiles automatically. “Never in the history of text-messaging has one person sexted more than you, and I’m sad to say I know details I wish I could erase.”  
“Not the same,” said Scott sulkily.

“Yes it is, and get over yourself,” snapped Stiles. “Besides, it’s not from Derek. But it sort of involves him.”

Scott was suddenly all ears. “Has something happened? Is it the fae?”

Stiles clenched his teeth. He was willing to bet his comic book collection that there was no fae, but discussing it with Scott was evidently a lost cause. Besides, he had bigger problems to worry about right now.

“It’s from Danny. He wants to meet up with me at Jungle tomorrow.”

Scott arched an eyebrow and looked visibly relieved. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Danny’s okay.”

“Yes, Danny is okay. Danny also knows about werewolves. And another thing Danny knows about is Derek and he’s insisting I bring him.”

“ _Danny knows about werewolves_?”

Stiles nodded. “Jackson,” he said by way of explanation and Scott groaned.

“Do we need to worry?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s known about it for almost as long as us, and hasn’t once said anything. Not sure he’s realized Ethan is one though. Forgot to ask him about that.”

“Ouch. Maybe Ethan should tell him.”

“Definitely. But I’m not talking to Ethan about that. That is alpha business.”

Scott moaned and buried his head under the pillow. “Sometimes I hate my life.”

“Welcome to the club. We’re always accepting new members. Membership is free. The perks non-existent.”

“I’m laughing on the inside,” deadpanned Scott before he emerged from behind the pillow. “Why did you tell him about Derek though? It’s not real right, so why spread the lie further than you have to?”

Stiles flailed, slumped and groaned in rapid succession.

“I don’t know. I think I was mostly frustrated by the situation and needed to vent a little, because Derek was coming to dinner and I was freaking out about it. Talking to Danny made it feel a little more real I guess. Not that I want it to be real,” he hurried to add at Scott’s wide-eyed glare. “But it did help make it easier to pretend with dad. It sounds stupid, I know that. Lying isn’t fun and it’s not easy.”

“Neither is being grounded or ruining your dad’s career.”

“I know that, and I’m sticking with it. But now I have to convince Derek to go clubbing!”

“Better you than me,” said Scott with a grin and Stiles decided Scott’s face was begging to be the main target for an impromptu pillow fight.

 

***

 

Stiles got home before his dad, feathers still in his hair. Melissa had broken up their pillow fight when Scott back flipped down the stairs in a rain of down and broke a floor board (the third one this month). She’d politely escorted Stiles out the front door just as Isaac came back from patrol, and had then whisked Scott off to the garage to fetch a new board, hammer and nails. Melissa McCall was always prepared, but not prepared to do the job herself.

Scott would be grounded which was a sorry state of affairs for the residing True Alpha. He hoped none of the lurking villains ever found out. It would seriously undermined their authority. Not that they had any to begin with.

Anyway. Stiles had other problems. Like getting Derek to agree to go to Jungle. How exactly did one go about convincing Derek Hale to get his dance on?

He paused, shook his head and pulled a face. There was just so many things wrong with that sentence. And it was a question he would never get a positive answer to. But he had to try.

So while the leftovers from last night’s dinner was heating up, Stiles attempted to woo a certain grump via text.

“And here’s the plot to the next Mission Impossible movie,” he muttered while he contemplated the best strategy to go about this. Only to realize there wasn’t a strategy in the world that could help him.

Shrugging he decided to just wing it. It was after all his specialty.

 

_**SS:** Dust off your leather pants and glitter top, pumpkin. Jungle 2morrow w/danny. Good times!_

_**DH:** Are you high?_

_**SS:** Rude much? Come on, dude. Got to keep up the appearances. I bet that ass can shake._

_**DH:** I’m having you committed._

_**SS:** Committed to the date @ jungle? Committed 2 dance? You got 2B more specific!_

_**DH:** I don’t dance. And who’s Danny?_

_**SS:** Danny’s the dude you did that angry striptease for. And dance you shall. Because nobody puts my baby Derek in a corner._

_**DH** : Baby? Corner? You are high._

_**SS:** I wasn’t even born yet I still know the 80s classics. I’m scheduling you for movie marathons. At your place. 60 inch TV!!_

_**DH:** you’re crazy. I’m looking up psych wards now. Eichen House seems like a good fit._

_**SS:** You don’t love me anymore :(_

 

Stiles had to admit it was oddly entertaining bugging Derek via text. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He vowed to keep it up. He could just picture Derek rolling his eyes and letting his eyebrow get all jumbled together like a big unibrow.

He was rudely disturbed by the doorbell.

Mentally composing new ways to annoy Derek he threw open the door and promptly dropped his jaw.

“Eh, hi.”

Stiles stared at the person standing on the porch, looking sheepish, forlorn, embarrassed and stupidly hot all rolled into one. Somewhere inside the house he heard the phone beep announcing a new text.

“Hi,” he managed with a squeak and glanced around furtively. This was so not a good idea.

“What are you doing here?”

Parrish scratched his head nervously and shifted from foot to foot. He was adorable. And Stiles needed to get a new brain because these kinds of thoughts were not acceptable. He vaguely considered asking Scott to claw away certain very vivid and very explicit memories. Memories that at this very moment were flashing before his inner eye and causing him to feel a bit breathless. Some magical premeditated amnesia where Parrish was concerned could only be a good thing.

“I’m looking for your dad actually. I checked his schedule. I thought he might be home by now. And I thought you were at practice, so…”

He trailed off. Stiles stared. And then he stared some more. He might possibly be drooling.

“Eh, practice was cancelled and dad’s...” He shrugged. “I actually have no idea why he’s not home yet. Do you like want to wait or..?”

Jordan bit his lip. Damn, he shouldn’t be allowed to do that! Why did Stiles go to Jungle, have stupid bisexual epiphanies and hook up with the only piece of forbidden fruit in the county? Parrish shook his head slightly and took a tentative step back. Stiles wanted to reach out and grab him, possibly handcuff him to his bed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mumbled. Stiles groaned.

“I know. It’s just…” He possibly flailed just a teeny tiny bit. Jordan laughed and it was like angels singing.

“I really like you, Stiles,” he said solemnly looking him straight in the eye for the first time. “I wanted you to know that. I know some of our encounters wasn't really... well _real_ , and I feel awful about it. No, no stop.” Parrish held out both hands stopping Stiles who was already bodily protesting with a lot of wild gestures.

“I know I was drugged or whatever, but I’ve been around you enough to know that you’re funny, you’re honest, adorable and insanely hot. It wasn’t just the fae-drugs, Stiles. Under different circumstances...” He shrugged and smiled sadly. “Who knows, maybe it could've been something. But it is what it is, and I’m very grateful that you’re covering for me as well. I’d like to keep my job if I can.”

Stiles was feeling lightheaded. This certainly came out of left field. And of course Stiles had to go and find a hot guy who actually liked him and it was someone he couldn’t be with. The fates were fucking with him. He was clearly in some sort of sexual purgatory, because his brain was filled with only one thought and that was to kiss Parrish like there was no tomorrow.

“You shouldn’t say shit like that…” he muttered and looked at Parrish who was backing away, his eyes huge (God those eyes were all kinds of beautiful!).

“I know, I'm sorry. That wasn’t why I came. I just want to talk to your dad about coming back to work…”

Stiles nodded. He felt disappointed, but also a bit relieved which was odd.

… and then something huge crashed out of the bushes by the garage, landing with a stupid somersault in a spray of dust and gravel at the bottom of the stairs.

Stiles sprang back windmilling towards the door. Parrish’ eyes grew to saucers and he grabbed for his non-existent gun.

“DEREK?! What the hell, man!”

The dust had settled and yes, that was indeed one very sour looking Derek Hale standing rigidly in Stiles’ yard.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack! You couldn’t just call or perhaps walk up like a normal person?”

Derek just stared from Stiles to Parrish and back to Stiles again. His sour expression gradually transformed to that of intense detestation. Stiles was fuming. If anyone had cause to be angry it was him. _Honestly_!

“Hello!!” He snapped his fingers peevishly and waved frantically at Derek who still stood there statue-like. “Please answer – why are you here? Dad’s not even home yet, and I can’t recall us agreeing on any more of this stupid fake relationship stuff with him today.”

Parrish was edging down the stairs, throwing apologetic glances at Stiles and doing his level best to avoid Derek.

“I should probably like… go,” he mumbled and gestured towards the street.

“That’s probably a good idea,” growled Derek through clenched teeth. Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he almost got whiplash.

“Cut it out, Derek. That’s not your decision. And I still don’t know what you’re doing here!”

Derek whipped his head around so fast Stiles jolted, because suddenly Derek was staring at him so intensely it felt like his body was on fire.

“You didn’t answer my text,” snarled Derek stiffly. “I sent at least 11 and then I tried to call. I thought something might’ve happened. You never let anyone have the last text.”

If mental heart attacks were a thing, then Stiles was in cardiac arrest. Derek was _worried_? About _him_? He was sure he could feel the world shifting off its axis and he half expected a flock of pigs to fly by at any moment. Derek looked caught between embarrassment and anger. It made him look soft somehow and something was tugging at Stiles’ heart.

It was adorable.

And also slightly hot.

Dear God!

Stiles silently cursed Danny and the trip to Jungle with unexpected revelations, because since that night it seemed he’d levelled up to a higher state of arousal. And that was saying something, because Stiles was a healthy guy at the peak of his sexuality and took matters into hand several times a day thank you very much. But after realizing there was more to life than boobs, it had become apparent just how many hot guys Stiles was in close proximity to every day. And at the top of the Hot-O-Meter reigned the two men currently locked in a staring match that Stiles frankly had trouble grasping the meaning off.

He shook his head slightly in hopes that all the confusing thoughts swirling around his mind would leak out and seep into the ground.

“It’s nice to know you care,” he said fake sweetly because sarcasm and glibness seemed like the right way to go. Surely Derek didn’t really mean anything, you know, _significant_ with his comments. Stiles was just handy for research after all. Yeah, that was probably it.

“But as you can see I’m perfectly alright. No threats, no monsters lurking under the stairs and also Jordan is perfectly Incubus-free thanks to Deaton.”

“It’s true,” supplied Parrish quietly. “I’m also taking a fae suppressor of sorts, just to be on the safe side. So 100 % human.”

He squirmed uncomfortably and took another step away from the house but in a manner that suggested he was afraid to make any sudden movements. Stiles didn’t fault him. Derek still looked fit to kill.

Parrish was braver (or stupider) than most because he kept on talking.

“Also I’m 100 % sick and tired of sitting home doing nothing. So that’s why I’m here. To talk to the Sheriff about getting back to work. I thought Stiles would be at practice. So you can just chill, he’s all yours.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot to his hairline and Stiles watched in fascination as his face turned an unusual plume color. It was a rare sight to behold and probably why it took him a few seconds to realize what Jordan had just said.

“ _What_? No no no, it’s not like that. We’re not a thing.” He gestured spastically between Derek and himself. “This is not real, dude.”

Parrish mumbled something that made the plume expand to the tips of Derek’s ears. Stiles flailed. Derek growled.

“It’s not!” he repeated because it was evident that Jordan didn’t quite believe him. Not that it mattered all that much anyway but it was totally flattering that he thought Derek would actually go for someone like him. The term ‘out of his league’ came to mind.

Jordan just arched an eyebrow in a ‘yeah right’ kind of way that had Stiles confused for all of one second. But then his mind went blank. Suddenly Derek was right there up close and intensely personal. His body was instantly flooded with heat. An arm snaked around his waist and he it felt like a swarm of very persistent butterflies had burst free from a cocoon in his stomach.

“What the hell?” he managed weakly but Derek only tightened his hold and murmured into his ear. “Shut up and go with it.”

And yes those were Goosebumps travelling all the way down his spine and ending up at his dick were they promptly bloomed into the beginning of a very happy Stiles Jr.

“What….?” he managed weakly but lost his ability to speak when Derek nuzzled his neck.

“Your dad is coming,” Derek whispered and holy hell Stiles had a newfound appreciation for stubble. And if Derek didn’t cut that shit out soon his dad was not the only thing that would be coming.

The next moment Stiles heard the telltale rumble of his dad’s squad car and true to word he pulled up outside the house just seconds later. He did not look particularly pleased by the odd welcome committee.

Stiles attempted a jaunty wave but was met by a set of very unimpressed eyebrows.

“Derek.” he said stonily. Derek nodded solemnly. Stiles was part relieved and part sad he’d abandoned the neck nuzzling.

“I thought you had practice,” said his dad with an unimpressed tone that spoke of groundings to come.

“Greenberg overdosed on root beer. Finstock had to take him to the ER.”

The sheriff shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward.

“That sentence is so outrageous and if I hadn’t met Finstock personally I’d call you a liar. But that does not explain why you’re here, deputy?”

Parrish straightened and looked on the verge of saluting. “I wanted to talk to you, sheriff about possibly returning to duty.”

The sheriff looked from Parrish to Stiles and then to Derek and back again, an unreadable look on his face. Damned his poker face, Stiles cursed silently. He never really knew what his dad was thinking and it was a serious disadvantage.

After the longest minute in Beacon Hills’ history his shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily against his car, running a hand tiredly over his face. Stiles felt something clench in his stomach. He knew that look.

“I don’t know what is really going on here,” he said with a resigned air. “And frankly I’m not sure I even care. All I know is that I need all of you. There’s been another murder.”

 

***

“Well, this just went from bad to worse I guess,” said Stiles in a nasal voice that would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the fact that nothing about the scene in front of them invited to merriment of any kind. The stench was unbelievably bad and he’d resorted to pinching his nose. He pitied the wolves and hoped they could block out scent. He should ask about that some other time.

“That is the understated of the century,” muttered Isaac looking slightly green. Even Lydia looked ruffled.

The sheriff had already blocked off the area with police tape and they were all standing outside it looking in on the gruesome scene before them like audience at a variety show.

“I’ve taken to checking up on this damned tree twice a day,” admitted the sheriff with a nod towards the Nemeton. “And this is what greeted me less than an hour ago.”

“The twins patrolled here less than three hours ago and found nothing amiss,” said Scott shakily. “Whoever did this is either incredibly lucky not to run into any of us, or incredibly well-informed of our patrol patterns.”

“We should cooperate with dad about this from now on,” said Stiles edging around the tape to take it in from every angle. “Shake up the rotation, patrol at odd intervals just in case.”

The sheriff nodded tiredly and gestured towards Parrish. “I agree. Parrish, I’m putting you back to work and you will coordinate with Scott on this.” Scott and Parrish exchanged looks and nodded.

“This is the second teacher,” said Stiles.

He felt his stomach churn but kept on cataloguing the crime scene, snapping photos with his phone. The body of Mrs. ScaryFreak – or Ms. Sherlock as he’d recently learned was her name, lay twisted in an unnatural angle across the Nemeton. Her organs were leaking out of the gaping hole in her stomach, blood and gore everywhere. Clearly she’d been gutted at the scene. So much for finesse.

“Yeah, but your theory that she’s evil personified and possibly the fae we’re looking for is shot down at least,” commented Scott with a shrug.

“I never said I thought she was fae. In fact you know perfectly well that I don’t even think a fae is the culprit. I just said she was evil, and I stand by that. But even evil people can be killed by even more evil things it seems. Never the less, this is the second teacher to be found extremely dead on the Nemeton.”

Scott was shaking his head slightly, but both Derek and Lydia looked intrigued. Even his dad was paying attention.

“Stiles is right.” Lydia was pursing her lips in the way Stiles after years of cataloging her knew meant she had donned her thinking cap. “Mrs. Watson was the first and now with Ms. Sherlock - and yes I do get the play on names – we have two very dead chemistry teachers on our hands.”

“I usually am right,” huffed Stiles with a grimace. “But I’m usually ignored as well. But I’m willing to file that under bygones if we could at least entertain the notion that new teachers at Beacon Hills High usually mean trouble. Let me count the ways, okay. First there was Harris who I know was evil and he even admitted to helping Kate with the Hale fire thing. He disappeared under mysterious circumstances during the Darach Debacle but his body was never found. And unless I see a body I’m keeping him on my suspect list.”

Scott and Isaac were exchanging looks that spoke of skepticism but Stiles did his best to overlook it.

“Even if you don’t count Harris there was also Jennifer Blake, the aforementioned darach. This is a pattern that can’t be ignored and we should definitely look into the staff at school just to be on the safe side. And if a new teacher shows up soon, we should keep tabs on him or her as well.”

Derek had completed a circle around the scene and Stiles exchanged a look with him. He assumed he’d been trying to catch a scent, but he just shook his head.

His dad cleared his throat and jotted something down on his pad. “I’ll get one of the other deputies to run a check on all the school staff just in case. At this point I’ll try anything. If we can’t get a handle on this soon I fear the FBI will turn up again.”

Scott visibly cringed. Stiles sympathized. Agent McCall was the last person they wanted creeping around the area.

“Let’s pair up and canvas the surrounding area,” suggested Derek and Stiles felt stupidly proud for some strange reason when his dad clapped a hand on his shoulder and muttered “Thanks, Derek. I appreciate the help.”

For a brief moment Stiles skipped giddily alongside Derek and almost reached for his hand. But then he remembered and spent the rest of the day feeling extremely stupid and intensely angry.

 

***

They searched the Preserve inch for inch but aside from a poorly camouflaged crate of what turned out the be stolen iPads and an alarming amount of used condoms, they came up empty and leadless.

Frustrated they converged at Deaton’s the following day. They were all huddled around the examination table watching Scott disinfect the wounds of a cute and battle worn kitten who had to be sedated because its claws were more vicious than any of the wolves. It was currently out cold its head lolled back and his little pink tongue peeking out. Stiles wanted to adopt it.

The sheriff had slipped Stiles the report from the coroner over breakfast and it confirmed what the already knew. Ms. Sherlock had been killed on site approximately one hour before the sheriff found her.

Even though none of them for a moment thought Parrish was behind it, he’d insisted they check his alibi regardless. He’d even been caught on a CCTV camera on his way over to the Stilinski house and the timestamp meant he needed wings or wolf powers to get there fast enough.

“I had my dad check all his sources and there’re no new hunters in town.” Allison nodded towards Scott. “I believe he’s telling the truth but just to be on the safe side I had Scott listen in when I talked to him. He couldn’t detect anything on his heartbeat.”

“Well that rules out a possible frame job, I supposed,” said Lydia curtly. She had her laptop open and was taking notes at a furious pace.

“Also I think it’s really strange that I haven’t picked up on any of these deaths.”

She glanced around the room and seemed to linger on Deaton, but he was pottering around in his shelves and appeared to be unaware of their presence. They all knew he knew more than he was letting on and especially Lydia seemed to be losing patience with him. It was hard being a banshee without the first clue what it entailed exactly.

“I mean, I’ve had a habit of stumbling across bodies after some weird fugue states. There’s been nothing like that since this started and I can’t help but wonder…” she trailed off looking uncharacteristically unsure.

“Someone might be blocking her and her abilities somehow,” suggested Stiles. “They clearly knew our patrol patterns and they might also know that we have a banshee in the pack. Neutralizing her abilities puts us at a disadvantage.”

Scott looked dubious. Stiles groaned but refrained from commenting. For all the complaining Isaac had done about Derek and his alphaing, he couldn’t see that Scott wasn’t doing all that much better.

“So,” said Derek his arms crossed. Damn his arms were fine!

“I guess the question is who has the power to block a banshee? Are we thinking another banshee, some sort of mage, witch or maybe even another shapeshifter?”

“Oh come on,” interrupted Scott sounding annoyed. “I thought we all agreed it was some sort of fae. I don’t know why we’re all of a sudden looking into all kinds of complicated theories just because Stiles has a hunch. Sorry buddy, but you’ve got an overactive imagination at the best of times.”

He smiled apologetically at him, his stupid floppy hair obscuring most of his eyes. Stiles loved Scott like the brother he didn’t have, but like all sibling relationships there were times when he wanted nothing more than to lock him in a closet.

He was mentally debating how best to shut this naïve True Alpha down, when Derek spoke.

“A good alpha takes all theories into account. You haven’t been a werewolf long enough to even know half the shit out there and certainly not what they’re capable of. I strongly advise you to follow more than one lead.”

Stiles was gaping.

 _Derek Hale was_ _defending_ _him_?

Stiles pinched his arm, and auch that hurt. He checked his fingers, but each hand had the normal amount of fingers so clearly not a dream.

Scott was also gaping, but not in awe. He looked pissed. Lydia was smirking and Allison was hiding a smile behind her hands.

“I’m betting it’s a waste of time,” he muttered darkly. Derek snorted. “Perhaps,” he said in a tone that suggested he was talking to a young perturbed child. “But why don’t you let Stiles waste his time on that, and you can concentrate on the fae angle?”

Stiles cleared his throat and they all fell silent. The only sound was that of Deaton tinkering with vials and herbs in the background.

“No matter what, I think it’s safe to assume the Incubus thing was a red herring at least. It reeks of distraction to be honest, but I’m not really sure what distracting me was accomplishing. But it did have us all running around in circles for a while.”

Allison nodded. “I agree. It’s a classic diversion move. And the fact that it involved a third party, namely Parrish suggests we’re either dealing with someone doing a solo run, or maximum two people.”

“Speaking of Parrish.” Stiles whirled around and crowded in on the good veterinarian. Deaton continued to measure up vials of some strange grey powder that smelled vaguely like feet and treated Stiles like air. Sweet savior, this man was frustrating!

“I know you’re listening in on our little powwow and I was wondering if you could possibly trace that drug thingy that was used to activate Parrish’ incubus genes? If there’s something rare in it, maybe we can do a reverse tracking?”

Deaton took his sweet time finishing the vial he was working on, capped the jar of grey feet powder before slowly turning towards Stiles, his usual enigmatic facial expression in place.

“Pray tell, do I look like I work for the CSI?”

The only sign of life other than him breathing was a slight arch to the left eyebrow. Stiles smiled sarcastically and tilted his head.

“Honestly I thought you were some magical druid in touch with nature and balance. You mean to tell me you have limits?”

Scott growled and slammed a hand down on the table making the poor unconscious kitten bounce.

“Stiles for goodness sake, this is counter-productive. Anyway, if it’s not a fae, then I say it’s Deucalion.”

Derek and Stiles exchanged looks, rolled their eyes in perfect sync and barked out “It’s not Deucalion” in perfect unison. Scott pouted and Lydia mumbled something that made Allison giggle.

“What makes you so sure?” Scott had drawn himself up, uneven chin high and proud. Derek spoke first.

“Deucalion and the alpha pack weren’t here to siphon magic from the Nemeton. They never even came close to it, and he even helped us get Jennifer in his own strange way. He was recruiting, not wreaking havoc on the town. And he’d be stupid to come back here with a nefarious plan this soon.”

“Yeah, what he said,” spluttered Stiles and patted Derek proudly on the arm. Derek beamed. Isaac made gagging noises.

“Also,” continued Stiles with a glare towards the curly-haired idiot who was guffawing into his scarf. “I asked Ethan and Aiden and they confirmed they’d feel it if Deucalion was back. They might not be in his pack anymore, but the bond still remains. Also you can’t really block the scent from your own pack and they haven’t even gotten a whiff.”

Scott stared bug-eyed at Stiles.

“You talked to the twins? You hate the twins.”

Stiles shrugged. “I do indeed. But I also hate when murderous monsters are roaming the town. I’m willing to set aside my own personal feelings if it helps us solve this thing.”

For the next minute nobody spoke. Stiles could see that Scott was angry with him. In fact he looked betrayed and frustrated, but the fact remained that Stiles felt he was right, and if Scott wanted to pout then so be it. They’d work it out.

When it was closing in on two minutes of awkward silence Lydia had clearly had enough.

“Okay, as fun as it is, I think we should go our separate ways for now and try to dig up something more to go on. Deaton, if you could provide a sample of the drug from Parrish perhaps Stiles can get a sample to the Sheriff. They might have the resources to analyze it further.”

Deaton glided soundlessly up and handed Stiles a vial. Lydia seemed pleased.

“I will look further into Banshees and how to block our powers. Allison will talk to her dad about the case and see if he can be of assistance. Isaac, I’m giving you my fae notes and I want you to go over it, maybe get Scott to help you. A fresh set of eyes might be just the thing we need. And Stiles, you can look into other creatures. Derek, I suggest you babysit the Nemeton tonight.”

Derek looked highly disgruntled by this suggestion. His sour expression intensified when Scott jumped in and ordered him to do it.

Stiles was about to launch his protest when his pocket vibrated announcing a text. He fished it up, scanned the message and grinned evilly.

“Sorry Scotty, Derek will have to be excused from babysitting duty tonight. Get the twins to do it instead.”

“Why?” demanded Scott with a huff. “What’s so important it can’t wait?”

Stiles did a silly little twirl towards Derek making a production out of clinging possessively to his massive biceps.

“Danny actually,” he said with a grin. “Derek has generously agreed to go clubbing with us at Jungle. Isn’t that right, _babe_?”

Derek dragged his feet like a prisoner on death row but dutifully followed the cackling Stiles out the door.

“Take lots of pictures!” demanded Lydia and Derek groaned like a wounded animal. “I’ve made a huge mistake,” he muttered darkly.

 

***

Jungle was exactly like Stiles remembered it. Hot, pulsating, loud, sweaty and vibrating with sexual tension. That last part might just be Stiles.

They’d met up with Danny and a somewhat peeved looking Ethan outside the club and just like last time the bouncer had ushered them inside ahead of the queue. Derek had refused to go back to the loft to change, but it didn’t much matter anyway. His jeans were just the right side of tight and he’d shrugged of the jacket as soon as they came inside to reveal a very minimal tank top. Compared to that Stiles felt silly for having insisted they stop by his house to exchange his usual plaid for a fitted dark red V-neck and a new pair of black jeans. He still looked like a kid trying to fit in with the hot guys and he couldn’t help feeling insecure and like a fish out of water.

“Stop squirming,” hissed Derek elbowing him in the side. They had managed to find a table but it was on the small side and there was hardly any space between them. Stiles tugged at his t-shirt. It was tighter than anything he usually wore and it felt weird.

“And stop fiddling with the t-shirt,” continued Derek exasperatedly. “You’ll only end up ruining the elasticity and then it won’t fit as well. No need to be nervous.”

Stiles stared dumbfounded at Derek. Had he just…? No. He shook his head slightly. There was no way Derek had just sort of complimented him… Or had he? Stiles chanced a glance at him and he did look slightly flushed, but that might just be the heat in this place.

Danny chose that moment to resurface from a bar run with a tray overflowing with drinks in varying colors.

“Free drinks,” he grinned cheekily and grabbed one of the tall pink ones and gulped down half in one go. Stiles dived for another.

“Where’s Ethan?” he asked between sips. Dear me, these drinks were delicious. Danny nodded towards a dark corner where Ethan stood brooding in the shadows.

“He’s sulking because I flirted shamelessly with a couple of guys at the bar to get these.” He gestured at the drinks. “Serves him right,” he huffed and lifted another drink (neon green with a splash of orange) in a silent salute in Ethan’s direction. Stiles thought he saw a flash of electric blue.

“Why’s that?” Stiles had his suspicions but hoped he might be wrong. He wasn’t.

“He’s still keeping secrets and running off with Aiden – or so he says. I just want him to trust me and tell me what’s really going on.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “You know, right?” he said with a cheeky grin.

“Know what?” asked Danny innocently. His smirk was anything but. Stiles guffawed. Derek looked annoyed and moody.

“You sly dog. You totally know about Ethan’s fangs and claws, but you want him to tell you himself, right?” Danny nodded and downed his drink. Derek spluttered and spilled some of his water down the front of his white tank top. Stiles found he didn’t much mind that.

“Stiles? What the hell,” he wheezed out and Stiles raised his arms in silent surrender.  
“Oh sorry, babe. Did I forget to tell you that Danny knows about the supernatural elements of this town?”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and if it weren’t for the loud music growling was sure to be heard. “He knows about you too,” added Stiles quickly and shoved another drink at Derek. He did not look amused.

Danny laughed tipsily leaning back in his chair with a soft grin. “Don’t worry, _Miguel_ , you’re secret’s safe with me.” He winked and Stiles couldn’t help it. He doubled over in mirth, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. Derek huffed and got up, stalking towards the restrooms.

“Our dates are grumpy old men,” observed Danny between titters. It was the best description ever and Danny was the man.

It took a while before Derek returned. By then Stiles and Danny had procured a new set of drinks all from guys staring at them hungrily from all sides of the room. In fact Stiles had launched a new project to see if he could replace 70 % of his body mass with hard liquor. He was off to a promising start.

“You’re drunk,” grumbled Derek. Stiles’ answer was to plaster himself to Derek’s side and try to count his stubble. It was not easy.

“I’m slightly inebriated,” corrected Stiles with a hiccup. “And you need to loosen up a bit. Is it true werewolves can’t get drunk? Isn’t there like a magic herb you can mix into it or something to get a buzz going?”

He continued stroking Derek’s beard. It was softer than it looked.

“Yes, it’s possible,” said Derek stiffly. “But it’s not something I’ve tried personally.”

“Why ever not?” purred Stiles. “It feels awesome. It’s like I’m floating a bit, I feel kind of liquidy.”

“Sounds inconvenient,” replied Derek. Stiles couldn’t see his face from this angle, but it sounded like he was smiling a bit.

“My life is inconvenient,” muttered Stiles following the trail of stubble down Derek’s neck. “Sometimes it’s great to get a break from it. To forget all about the nasty stuff going on. And I don’t dream when I’m drunk, so…”

He more felt than heard Derek make a choking sound, kind of like he found Stiles’ confession somewhat heartbreaking. But this was neither the time nor the place for heartbreak or sob stories.

“Let’s dance, sourwolf,” slurred Stiles and jumped unsteadily to his feet. There was a suggestive beat thundering throughout the locale, strobe light flashing and a wave of bodies gyrating to the rhythm. Stiles felt it calling.

He grabbed Derek’s arm and tugged, but he didn’t budge.

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh, come on! Please? For me? You’re my _boyfriend_ , remember?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but instead of going with the flow or rolling his eyes like he normally did when Stiles was being an idiot, Derek looked angry.

“I don’t dance, Stiles!” he ground out between clenched teeth. “And besides, this isn’t real anyway and your dad’s not here right now so there’s no need for you to keep up the pretense.”

It felt like someone had just ripped out the neither part of Stiles’ stomach and the entire content was pouring out, heart and all. If he’d been even remotely more sober, he’d probably had the mental capacity to analyze it better. But in his drunken state all he registered was a) Derek was a dick and b) Stiles felt shitty and c) Stiles didn’t want to feel shitty.

So he danced.

Derek could just sit there and brood in his own little world of moodiness and dark thoughts. Stiles didn’t have to be a part of it. Because Stiles was at Jungle and the music was pumping and so was the alcohol in his blood and goddammit he wanted to feel good.

There was enough shit in his life anyway. Nightmares, dead teachers, stupid deputies, drugged up faes and now this horrid fake boyfriend deal with the grumpiest werewolf in existence. Hot or not, Derek Hale didn’t care one iota for Stiles anyway, that much was certain.

He found Danny in the middle of the fray surrounded by a string of hot guys, and he happily let Stiles join them. He vaguely registered that Ethan slithered into the mix a while later a predatory look in his eyes that Danny seemed to appreciate, and before he knew it they’d disappeared altogether leaving him in the center of a hot guy fest the likes of nothing he’d seen before.

Someone brought him another drink and he downed it gratefully. He mouthed a thanks and the guy leered at him, trailing his eyes from Stiles’ face and down his body. He lifted his eyes again, arching an eyebrow in silent question and Stiles nodded his consent. Why shouldn’t he? Derek was a grumpy grump that grumped, and he owed him nothing anyway. He didn’t even like him and certainly not like _that_.

So when the guy reached forward and lets his hand trail down Stiles’ by now sweat soaked t-shirt and took his sweet time rubbing at the already hard nipples, making him moan obscenely, Stiles’ last thought before crowding in on him was that Derek could go screw himself for all he cared. It’s not like Stiles _likes_ him or anything. Not _like that_ anyway.

But when the guy latched onto his neck and started sucking and nibbling his way down to his collar bone while his hands snaked down to Stiles’ ass, Stiles was somehow unsurprised to realize that this wasn’t at all what he wanted.

Who was he trying to kid anyway? At least one good thing could be said for getting drunk of his ass – it was good for epiphanies and self-honesty. And deep down Stiles knew exactly how good it felt when Derek touched him. And this was nothing like that.

But if Stiles couldn’t have the real thing, then the least he could do was have a bit of fun. And he certainly doesn’t want Derek to know that Stiles was a pitiful high school student who had hopeless crushes on older stubbly men.

So he kissed the guy with abandon.

It doesn’t last long. He’s barely gotten his tongue into the guy’s mouth before he’s rudely dragged away from the dance floor by the hair. His reaction time was severely impaired by the alcohol and by the time he’s found his voice he’s in the back room of the club being stared down by four pairs of very livid looking drag queens.

“What the hell?!” he squealed, and promptly quivered when Chantal intensified her glare of doom to a level nine.

Mystique clucked her tongue. “Stiles, honey. You know we love your sweet little tushie, but we’re profoundly disappointed right now.”

“Profoundly,” repeated Honey Boo looking on the verge of tears. “We thought you were one of the good ones.”

Stiles spluttered. And then flailed a bit before toppling off the chair. Rita Skeeter tottered over on nine inch heels and plucked him of the floor, back in the chair and handed him a bottle of water. He gulped it down greedily.

“I never pegged you for the cheating kind,” snarled Chantal tossing her hair with such flair Lydia would applaud.

“So, so disappointed,” muttered Honey Boo.

“Heartbroken,” added Mystique.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles was evidently drunker than he thought.

Rita Skeeter (who so far was by far his favorite) knelt before him and stroked his sweat-soaked hair. “We were so proud and happy when we saw you arrive with that delicious boyfriend of yours. And you looked so happy all snuggled together petting each other. And next we know you’re gyrating with someone else.”

Stiles did not know how to explain the fakeness of their relationship, so he just went with “but we’re not together! And he doesn’t even like me like that anyway.”

The four drag queens reacted like one fluent being. He’d hardly blinked before they were lined up before him, hips jutting out and four very judgmental fingers pointing at him. He could little do but cover under their glares of destruction.

Honey Boo took pity on him.

“Oh, sweet summer child, you know nothing of the caveman’s way of flirting. That man of yours – he visibly _deflated_ when he saw you kissing that guy. It was like watching a dying animal, the pain was so _agonizing_.”

Stiles gaped. Then he closed his mouth, opened it and tried to speak, but no words came out. He just pointed towards the club again, and then at himself and back at the club and then just collapsed.

Chantal cooed. “I’m sure it’s fixable, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you just tell him how you feel. And yes it’s clear as day how you feel.”

Stiles felt nauseous. Telling Derek felt somehow scarier than facing down supernatural threats of any kind.

“I didn’t even know I like him like that,” mumbled Stiles forlornly. “I’ve always kind of liked him despite claiming I don’t but I didn’t even know I liked boys that way until recently.”

“Your heart still did,” hummed Rita Skeeter, “even if your head was a bit slow on the uptake.”

Stiles nodded and gulped down the rest of the water. Mystique instantly handed him another. “One for the road,” she smiled encouragingly.

“Break a leg!” the queens yelled in pitch perfect unison as Stiles stumbled out of the room and back into the club, determined to find Derek and try and explain things.

He tried calling him, but his phone went straight to voice message. Stiles ran passed the bouncers and legged it down the street hoping to catch a taxi.

As he rounded a corner, he felt his world tilt.

And then everything went black.

 

***

Come find me on [tumblr](http://darachmoon.tumblr.com/)

Also the grammar is probably worse than normal and thank you for suffering through it. I was in a hurry, November and NaNoWriMo is looming over me, and i have a somewhat unrealistic dream of finishing this before that...


	10. Definitely not a blockbuster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where people are tied up, villains are revealed and a whole lot of shit goes down.

It’s so dark.

The kind of dark that feels like it’s choking you. Clammy; suffocating; like walls closing in.

Stiles wanted to scream but his vocal chords were not cooperating. His heart was beating so fast, he could hear the blood pulsating in his veins; sweat was dripping down his back, running down his temple.

‘This is what it feels like to die’ he thought helplessly trying and failing to twist out of invisible bonds.

Trapped.

He groped around in the dark trying to get a feel of where he was. His fingers brushed over uneven ridges. He trailed the ridge with his index finger and it curved. Stiles battled the panic, taking deep breaths. He continued to let his fingers explore the surface and found more ridges, all curving in what appeared to be circles.

 _Rings_.

In an instant it all slotted into place. _Of course_. He inhaled deeply and yes the air smelled mossy; woodsy.

“What do you want with me?” he yelled into the void, his voice hoarse and scratchy. The sound drowned in the darkness. Swallowed it. The only thing he could hear reminded him of breathing. Heavy breathing. Panting.

“I know where I am!”

The panic was building. White spots danced before his eyes almost blinding him in all the darkness enveloping him.

He trashed around feeling his arms getting scratched and the skin torn on the rough surface of the Nemeton. A mental image of Ms. Sherlock’s body twisted and gutted on top of this very tree stump flashed before him and he forced the bile down. For all his bluster and bravado in the face of danger, Stiles really didn’t want to die. And certainly not like this.

"Who's there?"

No one answered. Still he knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t alone. It was not a comforting notion.

“Please,” he whimpered helplessly. Stiles didn’t really know what he was pleading for. The chances of being rescued were slim – maybe be was begging for release? Whatever was in store, he hoped it would be over soon. This blind waiting was worse than anything.

Something ghosted by him making him yelp pathetically.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

His voice broke like it used to back when puberty was just setting in but Stiles was beyond caring. The sound of branches breaking, leaves rustling told him whatever was out there was moving around. Circling him. Its movements appeared graceful; smooth.

Something brushed his foot; soft. Stiles startled and tried to tug the foot away but found it bound. Ropes dug into his skin and he hissed in pain.

He whimpered again when he felt the creature graze his foot again. It felt soft against his skin, almost like fur and if Stiles didn’t know better he’d say it was _nuzzling_ him.

Holding his breath, sweat running down his face Stiles registered it moving its muzzle from the sole of his foot and up towards his ankle. When it reached the ropes a growl permeated the air making his blood turn to ice. Something wet and cold – dear god was that its mouth? With _fangs_? Stiles shuddered when something cold and hard scraped his skin.

“Please don’t eat me,” he sobbed almost inaudibly. “I’m all skin and bones and hardly particularly nutritious with all the crap I eat.”

The thing stopped immediately and – oh my god! Was it… was it _whining_? Or chuckling?

A sound like a sad dog vibrated through the air and suddenly two startlingly blue orbs glowed in the dark. Though no one could see it Stiles knew he was gawping. That looked like werewolf eyes. Like Derek’s eyes to be exact… What the hell was going on?

A soft howl caressed his soul and immediately Stiles knew with every fiber of his being that everything would be okay. A wet snout nudged him gently and then the mouth was on his ropes again.

“Are you… are you? Oh my god you are! You’re freeing me! Thank the heavens. Good wolfy,” he rambled mindlessly and the wolf growled. Stiles laughed.

Hysterically. Relieved.

But he didn’t get more than a few seconds of relaxation before a brain-numbingly bright light pierced the air bathing everything in white. Stiles screamed, tried to bring his hands to his face to block it out but they were still bound securely.

“What the fuck?” he yelled hoarsely. The safe, soft presence at his feet was gone and all that was left was pain. So much pain.

“Derek!” he moaned weakly suddenly overcome with loss and an overpowering certainty of who the wolf at his feet had been.

Spots were dancing before his eyes again, this time black and grey. Swirling into each other; forming fog. So very thick fog. Swallowing him again.

“Crap,” someone said exasperatedly from somewhere deep within the mist. “He’s slipping away again. You hit him too hard, he’s only human you know.”

Stiles felt the world sinking away and fell into nothingness.

 

***

 

Stiles came back in increments.

At first it’s just darkness and pain. The pain ebbed and flowed, came and went. Pulsated.

The darkness prevailed.

The ground was hard, cold. The woodsy smell was also gone. Instead his nostrils were filled with the irony scent of blood. He gagged and curled in on himself as new waves of pain shoots through his body.

Spots danced before his eyes, cold sweat covered his body and the sound of water dripping and hitting some sort of metal surface became tinnier and tinnier as the world once again slipped away…

 

***

 

The next time he woke he was more lucid. The room was not as dark. He could make out silhouettes and swiftly came to the conclusion he’s somewhere inside and not on top of the Nemeton like a sacrificial lamb. Had that even been real? Or was it just a dream? He'd been prone to dreaming about it since the ice baths... So yeah, probably a dream.

No matter, relief flooded him, but the sensation was short lived. He’s still trapped; obviously hurt and Stiles could dejectedly confirm he’s still very much tied up. Securely.

Basically Stiles was well and truly fucked.

He cursed mentally. Clearly history was repeating which meant he’d been kidnapped – _again_. It’s an alarming pattern and he really should invest in some sort of panic alarm or something. Or at the very least a canister of maze.

He groaned, rolled his eyes and promptly regretted it. Because his head – it freaking _hurt_!

Whoever his assailant was this time, he or she was not kidding around that much was certain. His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dimly lit room and the initial conclusion was that chances of escape were not good.

Stiles eyed the sturdy looking leather straps equipped with huge buckles dejectedly. He’d need an Argent level knife to cut through that and he didn’t even have a paper clip to show for. It made him long for the days of being dragged off with crazy alpha Peter to hack e-mail accounts or being used as a punching bag for grandpa Argent.

Which basically summed up this clusterfuck of a situation perfectly.

Stiles winced and moaned in agony. He’d stupidly moved his head and the signs were pointing to a sizable lump on the back of his head. That would explain the piercing headache. And taking into the account he’s also feeling nauseous Stiles quickly self-diagnosed as having a concussion as well.

He had no idea where all the blood came from. And frankly he’s too scared to find out. Some of it is clearly his because the air is filled with an irony tang and not everything had dried yet indicating freshness. But most of it looked older; dried and rust-colored.

Stiles was willing to bet his Jeep that he’s in the current Beacon Hills villain’s lair and all that is missing is a roll of cellophane in the corner to make it look like one of Dexter Morgan’s kill rooms.

He strained his ears but aside from the sound of water dripping, couldn’t hear a thing. Soundproof walls Stiles concluded dejectedly or somewhere deep under ground.  He added it to the growing list of reasons why he’d probably never see blue skies again.

It’s impossible to know if it’s day or night. There were no windows, but some light trickled through from a ventilator shaft. And he’s hungry. So damned hungry. Which of course means he’s been out of it for a while.

_Had they realized he’s missing?_

The question kept playing over and over on Stiles’ mind making him anxious and fidgety. Because there’s a huge chance the answer is no. Dad’s shifts has been irregular to say the least the last couple of weeks, and with the latest murder he’s probably more or less moved into the station. And the others all knew he was going out tonight and probably expected him to be hung over and sick tomorrow. And Derek was mad at him and would probably stay clear of Stiles as best he could. Not the most confrontational when it came to feelings unfortunately. 

Worst case scenario no one would notice until Monday. It was a sobering and depressing thought.

*

Time passed slowly. Or Stiles assumed it passed slowly. It felt slow. And it was pure torture. No way of escaping, he’s hungry, there’s nothing to look at besides pools of dried blood and the contours of stuff he really didin't want to know what was.

Basically there’s a whole lot of nothing going on and so naturally Stiles was caught completely off guard when something suddenly did happen.

It had been impossible to make out any doors or openings in the dimly lit room. A core-churning squeaky sound pierced the deafening silence and was soon followed by a very rusty looking steel-door opening.

Light flooded the room and Stiles groaned in pain when it hit his eyes. It was like hot knives stabbing at his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. He tried to open an eyelid when he heard the sound of feet shuffling, but the brightness hurt his light sensitive eyes too much.

He heard muttering. Followed by a groan. It sounded like someone was dragging something behind them. Something heavy.

There was a lot of panting. Some very creative cursing.

Then the sound of retreating footsteps. The squeak of the door and then a heavy thud. Stiles opened his eyes again and found the room back to the dim near-darkness.

But he was no longer alone.

“No!” he croaked hoarsely, straining against the restraints. “No, no, no, no. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

He thought he heard someone cackle faintly but it might just be his imagination. Or the ringing in his ears.

“BASTARDS!” he screamed so loud it hurt his throat. It ended in a violent coughing fit that did nothing good for his throbbing head.

Stiles knew that form.

Poor light be damned, he’d recognize the perfection that was Derek Hale even if he was completely blind. Derek was slumped bonelessly against the opposite wall. Stiles noticed him wearing a different shirt than he’d had on at Jungle, which only led credence to the theory that Stiles had been here a while.

And he was bleeding.

Black blood!

“Holy crap, Derek. DEREK!”

Stiles tugged fruitlessly against his restraints but his efforts did nothing besides reopen some of the wounds on his wrists. He ignored it.

Derek groaned faintly, but still seemed to be mostly out of it. That was understandable if Wolfsbane was at play. God how Stiles hated that flower with the firey passion of several burning suns.

“Derek! Derek, can you hear me?” Stiles whined just a little. “Come on, man. Answer me! Are you hurt?”

Derek groaned faintly and lifted his head gingerly. It lolled a bit before he seemed to find the strength to keep it still. Stiles held his breath and sighed in relief when Derek’s eyes slowly blinked open. He seemed confused and out of it, but yay for consciousness.

“Hey,” said Stiles with a weak smile. Derek startled. Like he hadn’t realized someone else was there.

“Stiles?” he wheezed out weakly and Stiles barked out a manic laugh sounding totally insane. He didn’t care.

“Yeah, hi. I sort of, eh – got myself a bit kidnapped...” He shrugged. Derek rolled his eyes. It was strangely comforting.

“Who?” asked Derek. His eyes had glided shut again, but he was still conscious which Stiles took as a good sign.

“Who what? Who kidnapped me you mean? I have no clue. I was hoping you could tell me.”

Derek’s only answer was a gut-churning moan. He slowly removed his hand and Stiles felt his heart stop at the sight. There was a huge gaping wound in his stomach. Black blood was oozing out of it, and he had to shut his eyes because however much Stiles had wanted to know Derek inside out, he’d never meant it literally.

“Oh my God, that does not look good. You’re healing, right?”

There was no use hiding the quiver in his voice. Derek looked pale and weak. God, Stiles hated to see him like this.

It took a while before Derek answered.

“There’s too much wolfsbane in my bloodstream,” he half whispered, half whimpered.

“What do you mean ‘ _too much’_? Are you healing or not?” There was a panic attack coming. Stiles knew the signs well.

“Not. Or not fast enough.”

Derek smiled weakly but it quickly turned into a grimace. Stiles’ whole world stopped.

“What does that mean exactly?” he asked hesitantly. God, he was having trouble breathing. There wasn’t enough air here.

“Exactly what you think it means. I’m dying, Stiles.”

There was little that could shut up Stiles Stilinski. The more serious the situation, the more danger they were in, the more hopeless things looked, the more Stiles would blabber on. It was a coping mechanism – his shrink has told him as much back when he was still forced to see her twice a week as part of his “healing process” after mom died.

Knowing that Derek Hale was dying appeared to be one of the only things that could silence him. So clearly Stiles was not coping. Not at all.

Stiles had sort of accepted that there was a risk of him dying with all the supernatural crap he was involved in. He somehow just conveniently forgot that others could die as well. And that was just frankly not acceptable.

But the evidence before him was overwhelming. Derek looked like crap. He looked like he was in pain, and why was there no oxygen in this hell hole?

“Stiles, are you okay?”

Stiles laughed hysterically, doubled over in wheezing coughs that felt like his lungs were crawling out of him.

“You’re something,” he gasped out. “You’re insides are falling out and you’re worried about me? Don’t. I know I’m having a panic attack and as horrible as it feels right now, I will survive it.”

Stiles doubled over, heaving for air, not finding nearly enough but still adequate amounts to keep talking. Talking totally helped. It really was an excellent coping mechanism.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this. I’m going to be forced to once again just sit idly by and watch as someone I love withers away and dies in front of me. I can’t handle this shit. I really can’t. With mom at least I got months and months to prepare, and still it sucked so bad I wanted to die right along with her. But with you, I hardly even get to realize I’m stupidly in love with your grumpy face, and then you’re just going to bleed out ten feet away from me while stupid supernatural bad guys lurk somewhere outside this stupid room just itching to use us as two more sacrifices in some stupid ploy to siphon power out of the half-dead Nemeton. Not cool, man. And I know I said stupid a lot, but it really is just that. Stupid.”

It wasn’t until Stiles had gulped for air a good minute and almost puked twice from the blinding nausea that he realized he’d just kind of unintentionally declared his affection for Derek. Not that it mattered anyway. The time for embarrassment had come and gone by this point. Black blood and imminent death had seen to that.

Derek was making some sort of noise and Stiles strained his eyes to make out his features. He wasn’t clutching at the wound anymore, but honestly Stiles didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign. _'I need to sign up for some god damned medical training if I survive this shit,'_ he thought desperately. He scrutinized Derek as best as he could across the shadowy room but his assessment was inconclusive at best.

What the hell?

Derek sounded like… Stiles cursed the continuous dripping from the ceiling that echoed in the room when it hit some sort of metal surface making it hard to hear anything.

Was he…? No…! Was he?

Stiles felt something drop and was pretty sure it was his heart. Another look and he felt it shatter.

Derek was laughing. But not the happy “someone-just-told-me-they-love-me” kind of laugh. In fact it sounded weirdly… - well, _evil_.

Their eyes met and Stiles took back everything about embarrassment, because there was still time. Time for that and for no holds bar anger. Because Derek Hale was smirking at Stiles in what was a decidedly not-friendly way. He’d seen Derek angry. He’d seen Derek annoyed, grumpy, semi-amused, he’d even seen him devastated and dejected. But he’d never seen him downright malicious, lips curled back in a sneer, teeth exposed and vicious.

“So gullible,” he snarled and it made him look un-Derek-like and just plain _wrong_. As Stiles struggled to comprehend this unexpected twist, the invisible door opened again. The light was just as blinding as the last time and once again Stiles had to turn his head away. It took perhaps a full minute before they had adjusted enough to function.

A silhouette was bathed in light in the open doorway. It was curvy, tall and had a hand cocked jauntily at her waist. He could hear a trilling laughter and goose bumps trailed down his spine.

Stiles knew that voice.

“That’s not Derek,” he said with surprising calm. The panic attack was over. This had just turned personal.

The clicking of her heels echoed off the walls as she slowly sauntered into the room, a very pleased smile playing crookedly on her lips. He should’ve known she’d be back. Even the dead ones usually did. He shouldn't be surprised that the assumed dead cropped up again. 

“No, sweetie,” she cooed mockingly stopping besides not-Derek patting him on the head. Not-Derek leered up at her. It was all in all quite disturbing.

“But I did have you fooled for a moment didn’t I? And I got exactly the information I needed, so thank you Stiles for your cooperation.”

“Fuck you, Jennifer,” he spat venomously. “Or whatever your real name is. Or do you prefer the term darach?”

She waved her hand absentmindedly and shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, it’s of no importance to me. All I want is to finish what I started. And now I finally can.”

Stiles was confused. He didn’t like being confused.

“What on earth are you talking about? I haven’t given you anything. And I’m not going to help you in whatever scheme you’re working on. Not a chance!”

Jennifer was smirking. God, he wished he still had his bat. He’d very much like to introduce it to her chin.

“My plan is undeterred, Stiles. I still want to punish the werewolves, and Deucalion is at the top of my list. But to do that I need more power. And to get more power I need access to the Nemeton. But without the guardians at my disposal that point is moot. And I had him, Stiles. I had Derek under my spell, but something broke it. Something made him snap out of it, and that shouldn’t even be possible.”

She moseyed towards him, swinging her hips suggestively. “Peter hurt me. In fact he almost killed me, but thankfully I had a backup plan at the ready. I’ve been weak ever since and it took me a while to regain my strength. But I’ve used the time well, and after going over the facts time and time again I came up with a theory.”

She kneeled down in front of him, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Stiles half expected her to morph into her disturbing darach features at any time, but nothing happened. Jennifer traced a finger from his chest up towards his chin and Stiles forced back a shudder.

“Do you want to know my theory?” she purred. Stiles snarled.

“Not to burst your bubble or anything, but your storytelling skills are for shit. I couldn’t care less about any theory you might have.”

She pouted and tilted his chin upwards forcing him to look at her. Stiles grit his teeth but remained silent.

“Still with the sarcasm I see.” She tutted. “Personally I don’t get the appeal and frankly that was the worst part of my little act. Making the sarcasm feel believable.”

“Lady, I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” barked Stiles. Jennifer patted his cheek patronizingly and rose up to loom over him.

“I guess you don’t know, do you.” She laughed. “Well, I knew I had to get Derek to help me if my plan was to succeed. As the oldest direct descendant of Talia Hale he was the guardian of the Nemeton. And the poor fellow didn’t even know it himself, would you believe it. But I needed to get him to trust me. The virgin sacrifices helped. That boosted my power of seduction, but even that would have to be infused with something Derek truly found appealing; features and traits he could fall for of his own accord. So I spent quite some time lurking about Beacon Hills. Months actually. And I observed him. And I observed him with people. And it was only with one particular person he seemed to open up more. One person who he seemed to trust. Or at least started to trust.”

Jennifer did a little twirl like a fucked up runway model.

“And this is the result. I created this image based on what he desires and just aged it up and gave it a female spin, much like his teenage sweetheart Paige. Have you ever seen her photo? Dark hair, pale skin, moles. The tributes in her yearbook also suggests brains, sass and wit. Sounds like someone we know, wouldn’t you agree.”

Stiles shook his head. This was nuts. She was nuts.

“I recreated some of your traits, Stiles. Your clumsiness, the flailing, the long rambles and word vomit. I even recreated some of the situations you’ve been in together to hammer the message in. And it worked like a charm.”

Stiles would probably need corrective surgery on his jaw if he ever survived this shit storm. Because that was some seriously jaw-dropping intel. Jennifer clearly found his disbelief amusing. Not-Derek was also tittering in the background and Stiles wished he had a bazooka handy. Or a pebble. He wasn’t choosy. He just wanted to throw something at this abomination that was impersonating Derek.

“You’re nothing like me if that’s what you’re implying,” growled Stiles. Jennifer shrugged.

“Oh, I was enough of you to fool Derek at any rate. And the magic from the sacrifices helped of course. But there’s a reason why I’m telling you this. You see, you’re the reason my hold on him broke. You showed up at the loft all tearful and broken up about your dad and Derek snapped right out of it. That is some powerful mojo right there. And I want that. I want the both of you now. And a little fly also tells me you’re a guardian of the Nemeton as well thanks to your timely sacrifice orchestrated by the charming local veterinarian, so it all works out beautifully.”

She clapped her hands together excitedly. Not-Derek had clambered to his feet and apparently the wound was as fake as his glamour. Stiles was seething. White hot rage was building somewhere deep inside him; warm and dangerous. Trashing against the restraints would be futile, that much he knew, so he kept calm.

“I think it’s time we implemented phase two, don’t you agree,” she hummed towards the imposter and he nodded giddily. It was not a good look on Derek.

Jennifer patted his shoulder companionably and gestured towards the door with a small nod. Not-Derek scampered off into the light and came back just moments later pushing a huge trolley with a 60 inch TV on top. Chords and wires trailed after it like coiling snakes. Jennifer glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. Stiles bared his teeth in a snarl, but it only made her laugh.

“I can sort of see why he likes you,” she admitted. “You have a certain charm about you. But tell me, Stiles. Do you enjoy movies?”

He just glared at her soundlessly. What kind of stupid question was that? He seriously doubted Jennifer was setting them up to watch rom-coms. And if so, where was the popcorn?

Jennifer tittered on unperturbed by his lack of response.

“Who am I kidding? Of course you do. Well, make yourself comfortable, dear. You’re about to star in one.”

Stiles snorted. “Sorry, lady. But if you think you can force me into taking part in this cray cray scheme of yours you’re clearly wackier than I thought. And I wasn’t giving you much credit to begin with.”

Jennifer did that thing with her chin that made her look extra bitchy. He silently wondered how he could’ve found her somewhat amusing in the beginning –for a teacher at any rate. Probably because she was semi-modeled of him, Stiles admitted with a groan. He’d walked straight into her trap like a rat sniffing cheese. Frankly he was disappointed in himself. His eye for evil was clearly malfunctioning lately.

Not-Derek suddenly materialized beside them with a comfortable looking chair and Jennifer gestured for him to set it down next to where Stiles was bound up like the prisoner he was. She sank into it with a satisfied sound and patted Stiles on the head again mussing up his hair. He jerked his head away resulting in another flash of pain.

“Oh you’re in for a treat, honey,” Jennifer boasted and gestured towards Not-Derek who was posing stupidly by the TV. “Go on, do it,” she commanded.

It was like watching Harry Potter swallow Polyjuice potion. Suddenly Not-Derek’s features began to ripple, the muscles spasmed and the sound of bones breaking penetrated the air. Not-Derek hunched over and howled in pain.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” whispered Jennifer in awe. Her eyes shone as she drank up the sight before them. Stiles was close to vomiting again.

His frame was shrinking, fingers lengthening, hair growing, beard disappearing. A minute more of twists, turns and moans and a perfect replica of Stiles stood before them. The only thing giving away the clone was the smirk. Or at least Stiles hoped he never smirked like that. It was an unsettling sight.

“Perfection,” cooed Jennifer. “All you need is a change of clothes – I’ve laid out something in the other room. Be sure to wear something plaid.”

Not-Stiles saluted and jogged out of the room with more grace than Real-Stiles had ever possessed. He just prayed it was enough to give the fake away.

“That was a shapeshifter.”

There was no reason to phrase it like a question. It was quite obvious really. Jennifer nodded proudly.

“It is indeed. And would you believe me if I said I made him this way? Or rather he always had the disposition, one of his grandparents was one, but he didn't have enough in him to activated it himself. Truthfully he didn't even know until I sought him out. You could say he lacked the right catalyst if you will. I’m quite gifted with that you see – brewing potions that can enhance what’s already there.”

Puzzle pieces slotted together making the picture slightly clearer. Stiles could at least vaguely make out the framework. Some of the details in the middle were still hazy.

“Parrish,” he said angrily. “You did that to Parrish, didn’t you? Slipped him the potion to bring out the incubus side of him that lay dormant?”

Jennifer nodded gleefully.

“Oh yes, and I must say it worked like a charm, pun intended. You see, Stiles. The benefit of watching Derek carefully before I made my move last time was that I also learned a lot about his “pack”. And especially about you. My special friend also helped fill in some gaps. You’ve got a scarily good intuition and you’re sharp as a whip. If I wanted to come back here, I knew I had to take you out of the equation. Or at least temporarily distract and derail you. It worked wonderfully – until Derek started butting in. Didn’t you notice that he always managed to break the spell with you as well?”

It made sense. Or it didn’t make sense – because sense and Jennifer Blake had nothing in common. They were not even distantly related. Or in-laws. But Stiles could see how it all fit. And he’d been right – _again_. The Parrish thing had been a diversion, and clearly there wasn’t a fae or fae-like creature involved in this stupid plot. He was going to do his I-told-you-so dance the next time he saw Scott. Assuming he’d ever see him again. The odds were not in his favor.

Stiles didn’t take her bait though. Jennifer kept staring at him expectantly but he’d found a point across the room (there appeared to be a hook of sorts slotted into the wall) and he kept staring at it so hard it soon blurred. In his peripheral vision Stiles registered Jennifer shrugging and redirecting her attention to her phone.

The minutes tickled by.

After a while (Stiles did not know how long, but if felt like several lifetimes) a soft beep broke the silence and Jennifer hummed merrily.

“It’s time to start the movie,” she announced with an exaggerated hand wave. The phone clearly doubled as a remote because the TV flickered to life.

“I think it’s going to be a blockbuster!” she crowed gleefully. Stiles rolled his eyes. She might be a dangerous threat to Beacon Hills, himself, his friends and werewolves everywhere, but her material sucked up on side and down the other.

“Come on, Stiles. Pay attention. It might be a bit of a slow start, but the action will pick up, I’m sure of it.”

Jennifer grabbed hold of his chin and forced his head in the direction of the TV. He held off for as long as possible but Stiles Stilinski was born curious and would die curious. In fact curiosity would probably be the cause of his death, but it didn’t stop him from peeking at the screen.

“Is that the lacrosse field?” he blurted out damning his filterless mouth.

“It is indeed,” confirmed Jennifer. “A place of action. A place of passion, adrenaline and fights. Seemed fitting somehow.”

There was no sound, and that was perhaps a blessing. A few minutes of staring at the empty field was wreaking havoc on Stiles’ nerves. He knew he was in for something and it would not be good. Not knowing what or how or with who it would happen was not a good place to be. But he didn’t want to give Jennifer the satisfaction of hearing him beg for answers.

Motion!

Someone was entering the field of vision. Someone wearing a leather jacket and a deep scowl. The images were somewhat blurry but Jennifer seemed to have access to the tools to zoom. Stiles suspected she’d hacked into the school’s security feed. Gerard Argent hadn’t left much of a legacy behind him as headmaster, but the surveillance cameras were plentiful. He bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming at the screen.

Derek was doing a 360 turn clearly looking for someone.

“I took the liberty of borrowing your phone,” murmured Jennifer softly and winked at him. “You wanted to meet up to “talk” and explain your appalling behavior at Jungle. That was incredibly insensitive of you by the way. A real low blow.”

“Shut it,” hissed Stiles and Jennifer guffawed.

“I didn’t even know Derek liked me. I mean liked me liked me. So it wasn’t intentional. And I don’t know why I’m even telling you, you murderous cow.” Jennifer smiled lopsidedly not even the slightest pertubed by the slur. 

Derek on screen looked to be growing impatient. Stiles knew the hunch of his shoulders well, but all of a sudden they relaxed. Someone was coming. And sure enough, seconds later Not-Stiles strutted into the frame.

“He’s never going to go for that,” said Stiles with conviction. “I don’t walk like that. I couldn’t even if I tried. I'd fall flat on my face. Probably break a rib. Derek will realize that.”

“Hmmm yeah, sure he will.” Jennifer’s voice was oozing disdain.

Not-Stiles was talking. There was some hand gestures, but not as windmilly and uncoordinated. There was eye contact. Crap, now there was touching. Stiles cringed as he watched his doppelganger reach out and grab hold around the back of Derek’s neck. And he allowed it. Welcomed it even.

Bile rose in his throat and he fought to keep it down. This was wrong. This was not how thing should go. This would ruin it all. Because if Derek didn’t realize the smooth operator in front of him wasn’t really Stiles, then Stiles could never trust him again. Could never look him in the eye, or get past it. It would ruin them. And they’d never even begun.

Not-Stiles stepped closer, still talking. Caressing. He leaned forward; and oh god – their foreheads were touching. They were practically nose to nose. All they had to do was tilt their heads slightly and move just an inch forward and there would be lip contact.

“His lips are coated in Kanima venom,” informed Jennifer matter of factly as if commenting on a wildlife documentary.

“One touch and Derek will be paralyzed and mine for the taking. And worst of all Stiles – he’ll come to thinking you did that to him. I still have enough of my virgin power in me to get him enthralled with me again, and it will be oh so easy to convince him that you’re working with Parrish. That you’re under his spell and that his plan is to get the power of the Nemeton for his own nefarious reasons. I’m going to play you two oblivious idiots against each other and the only way I’ll undo this mess is for you two to transfer the guardianship to me.”

“You’re a heartless devil,” said Stiles icily as he watched in horrified trance how the space between Derek and Not-Stiles became smaller and smaller.

“I can live with that.” Jennifer looked scarily Zen, but there was a new gleam in her eyes that spoke of lust for power and recklessness. It was a dangerous combination.

“T minus 10 seconds to impact,” she drawled lazily.

Stiles felt the strange warm feeling in his gut start building. It was growing; expanding like yeast. For every second and every inch that closed between the two figures on screen it grew like bacteria in moist environments. Fast and exponentially.

 _‘I thought you knew me better’_ his mind kept playing over and over, silently screaming at Derek who of course could not hear him. _‘I believed you’d notice the difference. I believed you’d rescue me’_.

He’d believed.

Stiles screwed his eyes shut and believed. There was little else he could do at this point.

_There’s no limit to what your mind can accomplish if you only believe._

Deaton had said that once. And when Stiles had been stuck outside of that rave with just a handful of magic fairy dust and several meters of distance to go to complete the mountain ash circle, Stiles had done the same. Closed his eyes and believed.

It had worked then. Could it work again?

It happened almost instantaneously.

“What the hell?”

Jennifer’s annoyed voice filled him with hope. He continued to believe as hard as he possibly could and chanced a glance at the screen. Jennifer was tapping angrily at her phone, muttering under her breath.

And Derek… Derek was holding Not-Stiles by the neck – much like he’d done with Jennifer actually, that time at the loft. Not-Stiles’ legs were kicking frantically and he seemed to be gasping for air. Derek’s eyes were flashing blue and his fangs were out.

“YES!” screamed Stiles in elation waving his arms around.

“NO!!!!!!” yelled Jennifer scrambling to get out of the chair.

… - _wait just a minute_ … Stiles stopped mid-wave and stared incredulously at his hands. Hands that used to be held securely in restraints designed for the most cuckoo of cuckoos.

“You little shit,” hissed Jennifer, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I thought you were just human,” she sneered wildly, backing towards the door.

“Me too,” said Stiles in honest bewilderment. He still hadn’t the faintest clue what had just happened. And at this moment he didn’t much care either.

“Unacceptable,” shrieked Jennifer and stomped her feet angrily. “It’s not over! Mark my words, I will be back.”

And with a swish and a gush of wind Jennifer was gone.

“Crap,” muttered Stiles but he had other problems. Like the fact that Derek was two shakes from killing their only viable lead now that Jennifer had disappeared somewhere along the telluric currents.

He ran from the room (who was he kidding – he limped. Ungracefully) out into the corridor and into the adjecent room where he found a sofa, a table and little else. Stiles shrieked with joy at the sight of his phone. Fist bumps were involved.

With clumsy fingers he dialed Derek’s number and hopped impatiently on the spot waiting for it to connect. It rang once, twice, thrice – god why didn’t he answer his phone?

“What?”

Derek had picked up and Stiles almost dropped the phone in surprise.

“Derek, Derek! Don’t kill him. It’s not me. This is Stiles by the way. The real Stiles. God I sound like that Eminem-song. Whatever, that is a shapeshifter, but we need him alive so don’t kill him. It was Jennifer! She’s not dead, and she sent that doppelganger after you.”

Silence. Sounds of gasps and someone struggling.

“Derek? Are you there?”

A very depressing thought just occurred to him.

“Oh crap, you don’t believe me do you? You think that thing there is me and that I’m telling you it’s not me, when it is in fact me. I don’t know what that dude told you, but while he tried to play tonsil hockey with you I’ve been chained up by your former girlfriend and forced to watch it all unfold on screen. Not a good movie, it will get terrible reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. And also I was a total dick at Jungle but Mystique and the girls gave me a stern talking to and I think I know now the things that I didn’t know before, so now that I know I might actually be able to tell you what I know. You know.”

More silence.

“Derek?”

There was a sound trickling through to him, but it was hard to make out. It was muffled. Dear god what was happening? Had the shapeshifter gotten lose or something?

Stiles ran back to the other room and skidded to an ungraceful halt in front of the screen where live footage was still playing. And his jaw dropped.

“Are you – _laughing_?”

A snort hit his ear and then Derek was no holds bars, flat out guffawing.

“You are. You’re laughing at me?”

Derek hiccupped and nodded vehemently. “I am. Or rather I’m laughing because I believe you. No one besides Stiles Stilinski can ramble like that. No shapeshifter, clone or doppelganger could perfect that kind of word vomit.”

Stiles harrumphed and that only made Derek laugh harder.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Stiles huffily. “I don’t like you anymore.”

“Liar,” said Derek fondly. “I’m going to take this clown and tie him very securely at the train depot and call the twins to babysit him till tomorrow. I don’t trust him at the sheriff station. He could decide to start shifting at random and create one hell of a situation for your dad.”

“Good call,” said Stiles reluctantly. He’d taken to looking around the place in hopes of finding any clues to where Jennifer might have gone, but it was clean.

“Can you get back on your own?” asked Derek. Stiles wrenched open another door that revealed a steep staircase. He climbed the steps gingerly (sprains were involved) and pushed open a set of trap doors. A moment later he stood outside staring up at a very familiar place.

“I believe I can. I’m at the Hale house. She kept me in the basement underneath it.”

Derek cursed creatively. Stiles found it adorable.

“Remind me to get a shitload of dynamite one of these days and blow that thing up.”

“Fireworks? For me? I’m in.”

“Idiot,” murmured Derek. “Can you come by the loft later?”

Stiles smiled from ear to ear as he limped down the trail leading back towards town.

“It’s a date!”


	11. Out of shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Stiles limps, Peter creeps and the shapeshifter shape shifts.

It took Stiles approximately two minutes of awkwardly limping down the trail from the Hale house to realize his date with Derek would probably not happen. Not today at least.

Now that the adrenaline of his escape had worn off a myriad of injuries were becoming obvious. The slight concussion and bumps on his head he already knew about, and as he lumbered in the general direction of the city it’s also agonizingly clear his knee injury was back with a vengeance.

He’s didn’t limp as much as actively _drag_ his foot behind him. Stiles snorted remembering his pathetic attempt at faking it a couple of days ago to get Scott to do the werewolf pain drain thingy. He’d accused him of auditioning for The Walking Dead. Now ironically Stiles looked the part.

After limping for perhaps five more minutes he turned around. Crap! He could still make out the remnants of the Hale house looming scarily in the distance. He’s also covered in dried blood and there’s no way he’ll make it back to civilization without someone seeing him and either call the cops or an ambulance. Sirens would be involved, one way or the other.

After weighing the pros and cons Stiles reluctantly came to the conclusion it would best to call the cops himself. There’d be yelling no matter what. There was no hiding these injuries unless he could figure out how to work a glamor or persuade Lydia to do a full body makeup. Neither option seemed optimal. Might as well get it over with.

He stopped and leaned heavily against a sturdy birch and fished out his phone with shaky hands. He’d been too busy trying to get a hold of Derek earlier that he hadn’t even registered the numerous missed calls and messages.

His heart thumped happily in his chest as he scrolled down the list. 12 missed calls from his dad, 9 from Scott. Even Lydia had called twice and Isaac had sent a couple of texts inquiring about his whereabouts (terrible spelling, liberal use of emojis). Stiles only listened to one of the messages (a very hysterical one from his dad) but got the gist of it.

_They’d noticed!_

He slumped down on the damp ground underneath the tree in pure relief and laughed somewhat manically for a good few minutes. The fact that the laughter was mixed with tears was a secret that would never leave the preserve.

Sure he was in for a whirl of reprimands from his dad; in fact the sheriff would probably _hobble_ him for this stunt, but he’d gladly suffer through that knowing that he wasn’t as invisible as he sometimes felt. When all your friends were supernatural in some capacity it tended to outshine everything else. Everyone else.

His fingers trembled as he anxiously waited for the call to his dad to connect. He was shivering and exhausted. Drained.

God it was cold out here.

“Stiles? Is that you, son?”

Stiles gasped giddily at the sound of his dad’s anxious voice. Holy hell, it was good to hear his voice! It hadn’t really dawned on him how utterly fucked he’d been and how incredibly lucky he was to still be alive.

“ _STILES_?”

His dad sounded like he was at his wits end and fraught with worry.

“Stiles, this better be you, and you better answer me. Please, son.”

“Yeah dad, it’s me. I’m fine… Sort of. Well not really, but you know how it is. Supernatural kidnappings are sort of my specialty.”

“ _KIDNAPPINGS_! Stiles! What happened? No, no, never mind that for now. Where are you? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Stiles slumped over on his side. God he was so tired. And cold. Did he mention cold? God, he was freezing.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to fall asleep with a concussion and all, but his eyelids were weighed down like mobsters with cement shoes. There was no way he could keep them up much longer, they were so heavy.

“I’m out by the Hale house,” he slurred. “I’m gonna pass out now.”

The sound of his dad’s voice yelling became fainter and fainter and then Stiles once again slipped into darkness.

 

***

Stiles’ mind floated to the surface of what looked like black ichor. He rose slowly. His movements were languid; lethargic. After eons he almost broke the surface, only to be pulled down again.

Distorted images washed over him.

Mist, fog, clouds. Smoky swirls. Tendrils, just out of reach.

He vaguely made out people in between it all; figures. Silhouettes, features distorted. A wave of red made him think of Lydia but when he turned around there was nothing there. Void.

More dark shapes swam before him. Stiles got a glimpse of what looked like a lacrosse stick and heard the shrill sound of a whistle blowing in the distance. It was all drowned out by someone screaming - Lydia he wondered, feeling panic build. But his movements were syrupy. Slow. He was treading water but not moving. Something was pulling him down.

A wolf howled and Stiles whipped his head around sluggishly and almost hit a blackboard. He couldn’t make out what it said – something about momentum? Something he clearly didn’t have at the moment.

And just like that the images changed and he was in the preserve staring at the massive cut down tree. The mist was clearing, he could see now. He heard birds chirping in the distance.

The clammy fist squeezing at his heart was gone. Stiles felt lighter. He was floating forward; gliding. His feet never touched the ground, only skimming the grass; tickling.

The next moment he found himself at the center of the tree, sitting with legs crossed like a he’s meditating. Perhaps he was? He felt at peace; unafraid. It felt right. His body hummed, like a currant running down his spine. For some reason the leaves hovered in the air around him; static. Still.

He reached out a hand and picked one out of the air. It lay in his open palm, a perfect oak leaf, vibrant, alive – healthy.

Stiles knew the wolf was there. Felt his presence and extended a hand. It rubbed its snout against him, and Stiles felt at peace.

“Derek,” he whispered softly. The wolf hummed.

Then it beeped.

And it beeped again.

The forest was fading. The wolf beeped.

_“Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me?”_

Stiles flicked his eyes open for a moment and glared against the light. He promptly shut them again and shook his head sluggishly. The images were slipping away, growing fainter. He mentally reached for them, but they became liquid, trickling away.

“No,” he whispered desperately, trashing around; trying to grasp the remnants of the dream but it was gone. All that was left was a dull ache.

Gingerly he opened his eyes, half expecting to stare into Jennifer’s smirking face again but all he saw was his dad’s kind eyes, etched with worry. Stiles glanced down and realized he was stretched out on a hospital bed the anxious faces of not only his dad but also Melissa and Scott peering down at him.

“Crap,” moaned Stiles weakly attempting a half-hearted wave. “I feel like utter crap.”

“You look like crap, too,” said Scott somberly. Melissa whacked him over the head with a clipboard.

“Scott, get a grip. I know you’re aspiring to work on animals and not humans, but it doesn’t hurt to practice some bedside manners.”

“Ah, mom. The animals won’t mind.”

Melissa snorted and Stiles more felt than saw her cross her arms and scowl.

“No, but their _owners_ might. Honestly.”

“How long was I out?” asked Stiles hoarsely. He drank gratefully (and spilled a fair amount) from the cup his dad held out to him. Sweet Jesus, he was so thirsty! It burned a bit going down, but he ignored it.

“You’ve only been unconscious for a half hour or so. We’ve just brought you in.”

His dad was clutching his hand almost to the point of too tight. But Stiles didn’t mind. Everything hurt anyway, and if it helped erase some of the worry engraved on his dad’s face than he’d gladly take a bit more pain.

“What day is it?”

He was almost scared to ask. He had no idea how long Jennifer had held him captive.

“Sunday morning,” said his dad. “You’ve been gone for more than a day. I swear to God Stiles, if you put me through this again, I’ll –“

“Hobble me?” offered Stiles with a weak grin. The sheriff snorted.

“Something along those lines, yes. Or possibly chain you to my desk.”

Stiles shook his head – lord it still hurt like a bitch. “No more chains, restrains or handcuffs please,” he joked feebly and promptly regretted it when his dad’s face paled.

“I’ve seen the marks, son.” He swallowed and gritted his teeth in obvious disgust. “Poor choice of words, I’m sorry.”

Stiles shrugged and winced when a searing sting bloomed from his head. Melissa apologized profusely.

“I have to clean your cuts, honey,” she murmured soothingly. “You have some nasty grazes to your head. Nothing too deep, but you’ll need staples. That’s where most of the blood came from we think. Head wounds always bleed a lot and usually look worse than they are.”

“Do your worst,” said Stiles with his usual bravado. He regretted it a moment later.

“ _Holy moly_ , that stings like a motherf--“

“Stiles,” his dad chided going for humor to deflect. “That’s a dollar on the swear jar.”

“I didn’t even get to finish cursing. That’s not fair.”

“You’re fined for intent to swear, and don’t bother denying it.”

The sheriff smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Stiles hated this. This was the reason why he’d held off for so long to include his dad in this. He didn’t want him to get hurt and he didn’t want him to have to worry. They’d done enough of both. His dad deserved better.

They all lapsed into silence after that. Melissa continued to clean his cuts, muttering about reckless boys the entire time. She left for a few minutes and came back with a tray carrying a myriad of supplies that had Stiles paling.

“I hate needles,” he whined pathetically. Melissa levelled him with an unamused glare.

“You’ll also hate infections which is your other alternative, so you better shut your trap and deal with it. I’m also giving you a tetanus shot just in case.”

As it turned out numbing the areas around his wounds were more painful than having the actual staples put in, and he sucked it up and dealt with it with minimal complaints. Scott kept busy sending out texts probably letting everyone know he was back safe and relatively sound.

“All done,” said Melissa and peeled off the rubber gloves with a satisfied smile.

“How do I look?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows at Scott and tilted his head to show off his mom’s handiwork. “Badass, am I right?”

“Not the word that comes to mind, but I’ve been told to be nice to the patients so…” Scott grinned lopsidedly. Stiles threw a bedpan at him that Scott dodged easily (a backflip was involved, the showoff).

“If you break anything in here Scott McCall, you’re paying for it,” chided Melissa as she gathered up the supplies. “Can I trust you to not destroy the room while I go get Stiles a set of crutches? You should not walk with that knee, you hear me.”

The sheriff snorted as Stiles and Scott saluted sloppily in unison. Melissa left with an eyeroll and a mumbled “ _why do I even bother?”_

As soon as the door closed with a soft thud, Scott dragged his chair closer to the bed settling across the sheriff.

“So…” he began expectantly. “What exactly happened?”

“My annual kidnapping,” replied Stiles glibly chewing on the straw to his glass of water. Scott’s eyes flashed red. His dad groaned.

“And I was right,” he continued smugly ignoring their combined annoyance, waggling his eyebrows at Scott. “It’s not fae related – at all.”

“It’s not?” Scott looked genuinely taken aback. “Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded but quickly stopped. Head movements of all kinds were greatly discouraged he noted grimly.

“One hundred percent absofuckinglutely sure. And dad, please no more swearing fines! I’m injured; take pity on your favorite son.”

The sheriff sighed and leaned back in the rickety chair, arms crossed. “I’ll let it slide if you’ll get on with the details.”

Stiles shrugged. Also greatly discouraged as it turned out.

“I can live with that deal. Okay, so someone grabbed me outside Jungle and knocked me out. I don’t know how long I was out to be honest. I kept dreaming, or hallucinating or something. I first thought I was at the Nemeton and that freaked me right out. But later when I woke I was held somewhere dark and clearly underground. Turned out it was the old Hale house basement.”

“Crap,” said Scott looking horrified. “That’s the place Kate chained up and tortured Derek.”

This was a story Stiles had intentionally skirted when filling his dad in on the supernatural. He hadn’t wanted to scare him more than necessary. Now he looked absolutely horrified.

“That woman and her levels of evil still manage to surprise me. That place should be sealed off,” the sheriff muttered, mouth set in a grim line. Stiles agreed with every fiber of his being. He didn’t mention Derek’s plans of blowing it up though.

“Anyway,” said Stiles wanting to get the conversation back on track. “I was tied up and after what felt like forever I was joined by someone else. I first thought it was Derek. Because it looked like Derek and he was hurt. Mortally wounded, or so he claimed.”

Scott and the sheriff were halfway out of their chairs but Stiles gestured for them to sit back down.

“Calm down, it wasn’t Derek. It was a shapeshifter.”

“What the hell is a _shapeshifter_? Is that some kind of Kanima?”

The sheriff was leaning forward full investigation mode activated.

“No dad.” Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s with the Kanima fascination? Don’t answer that. A shapeshifter is exactly what it sounds like – someone who can change shape into just about anyone. I watched it happen and dude, it’s like Polyjuice potion. Only without the potion bit.”

Scott looked confused. He kept scratching at his uneven jaw and chewing his bottom lip.

“So we’re looking for a shapeshifter? How do we do that? If it can change into just about anyone, it can be just about anyone, right? It can be hiding in plain sight for all we know.”

His eyes suddenly widened and the eyes flashed red again. He growled low in the back of his throat.

“How do we know you’re really Stiles? Maybe you’re the shapeshifter and the real Stiles is still locked up somewhere.”

“That is a valid point, Scott.”

The sheriff reached for his belt and removed the gun, pointing it at Stiles.

“How do we know you’re you? And how is this my life if I have to ask questions like this and they somehow make perfect sense?”

Stiles sighed and leaned back onto his pillow. He felt he should commend them their high level of constant vigilance, but it was counterproductive to the task at hand.

“Firstly, Derek has the shapeshifter tied up at the train depot. I’ll get to that in a moment,” he hurried to add when both Scott and his dad started asking questions at the same time. “And secondly I don’t think Shapeshifter-Stiles would know about your secret stash of Oreos in the hallway closet, dad. And certainly not about Scott’s sizable collection of NSFW material stored on an external hard disk located behind the –“

“Alright, we believe you!” Scott was mimicking an eggplant if color was anything to go by. His dad looked sheepish. Stiles decided to let the matter rest.

“The most important part however is that _Jennifer Blake_ is behind this whole thing.”

That effectively shut the both of them up.

“The darach?” His dad looked skeptical. “I thought she died.”

“We _assumed_ she died,” corrected Stiles. “We really need to stop assuming and start confirming. From now on bodies need to be found, cremated and sealed off in mountain ash boxes buried sixteen feet under in wolfsbane laced soil. Because I’m telling you she’s alive, well and back with a vengeance. She still wants to eradicate all the werewolves and needs the power of the Nemeton to do it. And in a surprising turn of events, she needs both Derek _and me_ to access said power. Hence my kidnapping.”

*

It took Stiles close to half an hour to explain it all. He purposefully left out some of the more embarrassing details, and skirted the whole declaration of love part. He also brushed over how he’d escaped the restraints. That part he didn’t even understand himself, and wanted to explore more on his own first. It probably was just a fluke anyway.

“So,” said his dad putting away the phone he’d been staring at with a deep furrow on his forehead for the last couple of minutes, and glanced back at his notepad. “To sum it up Jennifer Blake is the one killing teachers in a barbaric fashion and in addition she needs Derek because he’s a guardian of the Nemeton. And so are you because of the ice bath thingy?”

“Correct,” confirmed Stiles. He was getting fidgety and ready to leave this place.

“Why are only you a guardian?” asked Scott sounding vaguely offended. “What about Allison and me? We both did the same thing.”

“I have no clue, buddy,” said Stiles honestly. “Jennifer never said anything about that. I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks though. The Nemeton that is. Perhaps it’s related somehow? And it doesn’t have to mean you’re not guardians. Maybe just not the guardians she needs?”

“That doesn’t really matter all that much right now anyway,” interrupted the sheriff firmly. “We need to concentrate on finding her before she goes on another killing spree or kidnaps anyone else.”

Scott looked dissatisfied but nodded his agreement.

“And,” his dad continued applying his cop voice, “as I understand it Jennifer was the one to drug Parrish as well?”

Stiles nodded. His dad eyed him shrewdly.

“And why pray tell did she do that again? You still haven’t told me how you figured out he was drugged and part fae. I feel there’re details there I won’t like.”

Scott’s eyes widened comically and Stiles cast him a murderous glare. Scott McCall did not possess an even marginally passable poker face. And Stiles did not want to revisit his dad’s freak-out over the possibility of his deputy hooking up with a minor, let alone his son. That little lie would have to stay in play.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said evasively. “She never told me that. It just came up because she was gloating about the shapeshifter. Apparently he or she was a similar case as Parrish. Someone with a disposition for it, but who needed a boost to activate it.”

He put up his most sincere facial expression and hoped the myriad of cuts, scrapes as well as the bruise he felt blooming on his cheek would present a pitiful picture that his dad would believe. Or at least pity enough to let the matter go.

“So Jennifer is going around infecting dormant supernaturals and recruiting them for her cause? That is not a comforting thought.”

Scott looked uncharacteristically somber.

“Basically yes. And she ordered the shapeshifter to turn into a replica of me, and sent it to trap Derek. Obviously that didn’t work out too well. Derek saw through it and has it locked away. And Jennifer threw a hissy fit and disappeared. I have no clue where she’s holed up now, but she’s reckless and greedy. She’s still around though. And she’s not giving up.”

“How?”

“How what?” Stiles looked at Scott in confusion. “Need a little more to go on there, buddy.”

Scott looked like he regretted asking but the cat was out of the bag and his dad looked on with curiosity oozing from every pore.

“How did Derek know the shapeshifter wasn’t you? Is it a scent thing or..?”

Oh.

Crap.

How was he supposed to explain this? And honestly he didn’t really know how Derek had found out. Stiles had been wishing and believing as hard as he possible could but that really didn’t sound like a plausible explanation. It might not be the explanation either for all he knew.

“Well,” he dragged it out, chewing on his lower lip nervously. “I honestly don’t know exactly. I just watched it on the security camera feed Jennifer had tapped into, and one moment he seemed to buy it and next he was strangling Not-me.”

“Well, I for one think it’s quite obvious really.”

They both whipped their heads around to stare at Stiles’ dad in surprise. He was waving his phone at them and grinning – dear god no! He was grinning his semi-evil I’m-about-to-embarrass-my-only-son grin. Hadn't Stiles suffered enough?

“I sent Parrish to scope out the basement and he just sent me a video clip. Jennifer had recorded it, probably expecting a roaring success.”

Stiles paled. This was not happening! Even if it was clone-Stiles cozying up to Derek it was still in a somewhat compromising position and – NO. Not something he wanted his dad or his best friend to see. Ever.

“We don’t need to see that do we?” he asked tentatively. “The important part is that Derek realized -  not _how_ . Right?”

The sheriff leaned back in his chair looking entirely too smug for Stiles’ liking. He groaned and rubbed his eyes nervously.

“You’ve already watched it, haven’t you?”

“Yup,” he said popping the P the fucker. “Your clone had him going for a while there son. But I guess I’ve underestimated how close you really are. The shapeshifter looks remarkably like you, the mannerisms are also quite good. Not perfect of course to my trained eye, but I've had years to study the enigma that is you. Yet still _this_ happened.”

He turned the phone around and showed the clip. Stiles idly wondered if it was possible to induce a slight case of cardiac arrest. Nothing major just enough to get a horde of nurses and perhaps a doctor or two in here shooing his dad and his retched phone out of the room.

But it was no stopping it. His dad had already hit play.

Scott’s eyes widened. Then his jaw dropped. And then he just sort of - deflated a bit.

“You make a cute couple,” commented his dad sounding oddly proud.

“ _DAD_! It’s not even me!”

Stiles had changed his mind. He wanted a dad transplant. Stat!

“Don’t ‘ _dad’_ me. I was kind of upset about the whole age difference and former suspected-criminal things but I can see that Derek clearly cares deeply for you. And all I really want is for you to be happy. And if that means I get a werewolf for a son-in-law than I guess I can live with that. It could be worse. He could be a kanima,” he added slyly.

“How is this my life,” muttered Stiles feeling embarrassment wrapping around him like a burrito. “Let’s just get back on track alright. So Jennifer – murderous, revenge thirsty, gone in the night.”

Thankfully his dad put the phone away and returned his attention to the notepad. Scott on the other hand looked dejected and subdued. Stiles knew that look well and it spoke of self-blame and regret. Two things that would do them no favors in this situation.

“Don’t go there, Scott,” he said softly. Scott looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I know what you’re thinking and it doesn’t help. Let it go.”

Scott sighed deeply, shoulders slumped forward and head bowed.

“We should’ve killed her when we had the chance. But I didn’t want to. I couldn’t do it. So I let Deucalion go for her. But obviously he did a sloppy job of it.” He raised his head, eyes meeting Stiles’.

“Do you think we should warn him? That she’s not dead I mean.”

Stiles shrugged carefully. “Would you even know how? Didn’t he disappear into the night without a forwarding address?”

“The twins might know,” said Scott hopefully and dived for his phone. As he typed up a message the sheriff got to his feet. He stretched and Stiles could hear several joints pop. He looked tired; drawn.

“I’m going to head in to the station and put out and APB on this Jennifer Blake character. Let’s make it as difficult for her as possible to move around.”

“Sure,” said Stiles with a sigh. “Although I think she mostly uses the telluric currents as her personal subway network. I still have the map of them in my room. It should give you all an idea of where to keep lookout.”

He sat up and began the process of getting out of bed. His dad stopped him by clearing his throat very pointedly.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise.

“To the train depot. I want to have a little talk with this shapeshifter as soon as possible.”

His dad shook his head vehemently. “Not happening, kid. You’re on bed rest until Melissa gives you the all clear.”

“That’s not going to stop me and you know it.” Stiles met his dad’s glare head on. “Nothing is broken, it was only a mild concussion, and the wounds are disinfected and sealed. All I need is the crutches and a lift to my car.”

His dad sighed deeply.

“I know better than to think you’ll keep out of this. But I don’t need to like it. And I don’t want you alone, do you hear me? Scott or someone else, preferably one of the werewolves, or Allison – that girl scares me slightly, need to stick with you at all times. Okay? And no driving.”

“Dad, come on,” he whined with an eyeroll. “You make me sound like an unruly kid.”

The sheriff simply stared, one eyebrow arched so high it was threatening to merge with his hair. Stiles grumbled and threw his hands up in defeat. It was so annoying being treated differently now that Scott had levelled up in strength. It used to be the other way around; Stiles looking out for Scott. Not always with happy results if all their detentions were any indication, but still. Stiles had been in charge. Now he was reduced to the one being babysat.

At least he knew his dad cared. It helped soothe the sting a little.

“I need to hear you say it,” demanded his dad sternly. “I’m not discharging your sorry ass unless I get a solemn promise.”

“Okay,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Good. And Scott is my witness, so don’t you dare try to break this deal or get out on some sort of technicality. No, no, no. Don’t even try denying it, I can see the wheels spinning already and just drop it.”

Stiles slumped down with a deep scowl. Scott was trying to school his face into that of a supporting friend but was clearly fighting back a grin.

“Well, now that we’re all in agreement I’ll go get you discharged and see if I can track down Melissa and those crutches. Stay put for just a while longer, do you hear?”

“Affirmative daddy-o.”

As soon as his dad was out of the room they plunged into awkward silence. Scott was once again fiddling with his phone, and Stiles began the cumbersome process of getting dressed. The shirt was beyond saving, but the t-shirt was still relatively clean without any blood at least. Scott had produced a pair of sweatpants from somewhere and Stiles pulled them on gratefully.

The worst part was putting on his shoes. He was stiff and achy all over and bending really didn’t do any favors for his head.

“You alright?”

Scott was thankfully not looking at him with pity, but it was still clear he felt woefully out of his element.

“Peachy,” answered Stiles sarcastically getting the second shoe on with brute force and a lot of stomping.

“Want me to take some of the pain?” Scott looked so forlorn and helpless. Stiles just smiled tiredly.

“No, that’s alright. Thanks for the offer and all, greatly appreciated, man. But it makes me loopy and sleepy, and I want to be lucid and have my wits intact if you know what I mean. Maybe later?”

Scott nodded; fiddled some more with his phone and let his eyes travel the room in a stilted and awkward way that had Stiles on edge. Something was clearly eating at him. Scott lacked subtlety of any kind.

“Just spit it out,” said Stiles sharply. Scott startled and whipped his head around. Their eyes met and Scott instantly looked away.

Crap.

It was one of _those_ conversations. Stiles mentally groaned. Scott clearly wanted to talk about _feelings_.

“It’s nothing,” muttered Scott gesturing aimlessly. “It can definitely wait. Nothing important anyway.”

“Scott!” Stiles levelled him with his patented ‘don’t bullshit a bullshitter’ glare. It was very effective. He was actually considering getting it trademarked.

“This is just going to eat at you if you don’t get it out. Need I remind you of the pesto-incident of ’09?”

Scott shuddered and slumped further into his chair. “No, let’s never talk about that again. It’s just…” he trailed off again and Stiles twinned his thumbs impatiently. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to prod. Scott needed to find the words himself, and sometimes they tended to get stuck. Especially when feelings were involved.

“I thought it was all fake,” he finally whispered, looking anywhere but Stiles. “I thought it was just for show to get your dad off your back with the whole Parrish thing. But that didn’t look like anything fake to me. And stop it –“ he frowned at Stiles who was about to vomit out a counter argument. “I know that it’s not you and that it’s the shapeshifter. But Derek didn’t know that initially and clearly didn’t realize until you’re practically making out.”

Stiles’ heart was beating two – no who was he kidding? _Five_ times as fast as normal. And he knew Scott could hear it. Hell, even he could hear it.

“Nothing’s happened,” he mumbled softly, wringing his hands nervously. There was still a bit of blood underneath his fingernails he noticed.

“But you want it too.”

It wasn’t even phrased as a question. Scott clearly knew and was just looking for confirmation. And if _Scott_ knew… Stiles mentally freaked out just a smidge. If Scott knew then _everyone_ knew. It was as simple as that.

“Crap,” he moaned. “Crappety crap.”

Scott still looked uncomfortable, but at least his face wasn’t bathed in disgust.

“How long?”

Scott was really getting to the point today. Stiles kind of missed the bumbling idiots of earlier years.

“How long what? How long have I known I like Derek _like that_?”

Scott nodded. Stiles laughed mirthlessly. “Not all that long. Turns out I’m quite daft when it comes to matters of the heart would you believe it. I guess this whole Parrish thing kind of snowballed it. The accidental cuddling with surprise boners was a clue of course.”

Scott’s eyes turned the size of saucers.

“Don’t even ask for details on that one. They’re classified.”

“Thank god,” mumbled Scott. “No offence but I don’t need the mental images.”

Stiles shrugged and grinned lopsidedly. “Oh I don’t know, I kind of like them.” Scott made a choking noise in the back of his throat that had Stiles in hysterics for almost a minute.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he wheezed out. Scott just glared. He sobered up and decided this was a good a moment as any to get it all out there.

“It really was fake. Derek did that to get me out of that jam with dad. Truthfully it saved Parrish as well. But after that we had to pretend you know. And it sort of forced us into some conversations and situations we normally would never be in. And before I knew it I spent every tenth minute checking my phone and tricking Derek into stupid trips to Jungle just to spend time with him. And I sort of realized I wasn’t really pretending to like him as much as actually liking him.”

Scott smiled dopily. Stiles grimaced.

“And Derek?” prodded Scott. “He’s not pretending either?”

Stiles squirmed. That was the question he honestly didn’t know the answer to. Not really. Just a lot of circumstantial evidence and some very vocal drag queens. Nothing set in stone.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly, not managing to mask the rawness in his voice. Scott patted his back in that blusterous way that was half awkward Scott and half over-eager werewolf.

“Looks promising if you ask me,” he said comfortingly and then laughed. Stiles arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Stiles. I’m not mocking you or anything. Just never thought I’d see the day when I’d sit here and talk about how Derek Hale might heart Stiles Stilinski. That is right up there with things like Captain America for President or Perez Hilton turned monk.”

“That unlikely, huh?” Stiles didn’t feel entirely comforted by this response. “It’s alright, I never saw it coming either. Scrawny sarcastic dorks seldom get the hot anything.”

He yelped in surprise when Scott threw the bedpan pack at him. “Oy, mind the patient!” he chided. Scott harrumphed.

“Sure, I’ll _mind_ as soon as you stop putting yourself down like that. For your information you have it all backwards – you are awesome! And it wasn’t until recently I could even stand to be in the same room as Derek. _You’re too good for him, bro_. Not the other way around.”

Stiles gaped. And then felt honestly offended on Derek’s behalf, but decided to let it go when his dad barged into the room crutches first, discharge papers clutched under one arm. Before he could managed to convince himself otherwise, he enveloped Scott in the tightest hug his bruised body could handle.

“Did I miss something?” asked the sheriff pointedly. They both shook their heads and Stiles made grabby hands towards the crutches.

“Let’s limp away,” he announced merrily and they all filed out in a decidedly ungraceful manner.

 

***

Stiles was nervous.

Palms sweating, heart rabbiting, mouth dry kind of nervous.

It felt like every nerve ending in his body had risen to the surface of his skin; hyper sensitive and flowing with crackling energy.

He glanced back at the jeep seriously considering to simply wait out here till Scott arrived. Stiles had (stupidly in retrospect) through a series of increasingly poor arguments managed to convince Scott to drive him back to Jungle to get his Jeep. He’d need it tomorrow for school anyway and the thought of poor Roscoe alone and abandoned in a somewhat seedy part of town didn’t sit right with him. He was fond of the old piece of metal, alright.

But Scott had at first just pointed at Stiles’ multiple injuries and shook his head. When that didn’t help he’d tried to argue that Stiles’ dad would kill him if Scott allowed him to drive with a concussion. Stiles hadn’t even bothered to respond. They both knew the sheriff would do no such thing. The blame would land on Stiles no questions asked. Fair? Not really, but some things were just the way they were. Stiles = blame, end of story.

So Scott had relented and here he was. The first to arrive.

Aside from Derek.

He could see the soccer mom Toyota parked a bit further back and cursed his superior persuasion skills. Because being alone with Derek now would be so _so_ awkward. 

The drag queens bless their bedazzled hearts and bodies might be sure in their theory that Derek _liked_ him – honestly Stiles though had trouble _thinking_ it because it was just so laughably unbelievable. But Derek hadn’t growled, yelled or snarled when Stiles accidentally blurted out you know – _feelings_. And that should count for something.

Right?

Or perhaps he'd just been too stunned to say anything the devil on Stiles’ shoulder whispered cruelly. It sounded like a plausible explanation. 

He staggered back and forth somewhat unsteadily not really all that accustomed to the crutches yet, kicking pebbles left and right, weighing pros and cons and desperately wishing Scott would get a move on. But he’d promised to pick up Lydia who’d called and quite fervently insisted upon getting a firsthand look at a shapeshifter in order to add to the bestiary. Apparently it was appallingly lacking on this particular topic.

His pocket beeped loudly and Stiles jumped. “Jesus,” he muttered shakily fishing the phone out of his jeans. He let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a groan when he read the message.

 **_DH:_ ** _I know you’re out there, I can hear your out of control heartbeat. Get down here._

“Here goes nothing,” Stiles muttered weakly and wobbled unsteadily towards the ramshackle building.

*

It was a surreal thing coming face to face with oneself.

Or rather a replica of oneself that wasn’t just a photo or an image in a mirror.

Stiles stared. And then he stared some more. The likeness was uncanny, but still it wasn’t _right_.

“Take a good look, Stilinski,” the shapeshifter snarled and Stiles backed up a few steps. “This is what other people have to stare at all day, poor things.”

It waved his arms around as much as the chains allowed and grinned madly. “You’re just a lump of flailing limbs, sarcasm and disrespect for authority figures of all kinds. And not nearly as smart as you give yourself credit for.”

For once Stiles didn’t have a comeback.

“Don’t listen to it.”

Stiles turned his head and watched as Derek emerged from the old train cart casting a contemptuous look at Not-Stiles. It snarled back at him.

Stiles attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Derek stopped next to him and took his time cataloging his head, face, body. Mapping the injuries. Stiles blushed to the tips of his ears and shuffled nervously almost losing balance with the crutches. Derek steadied him.

It did nothing to calm his heartbeat. Derek smiled softly scratching at his beard. It was the most self-conscious thing Stiles had ever seen him do and it was so freaking endearing.

The shafeshifter made a gagging sound. Stiles peered over Derek’s shoulder and saw it rolling its eyes exaggeratedly. Derek turned around coolly.

“Do you have a problem?” he asked archly. “Other than being in league with seriously evil people, that is?”

Not-Stiles bared his teeth in a frankly scary leer that had Stiles thinking of psychopaths and serial-killers.

“I hate high schoolers,” it wheezed. “And worse of all I hate high school dramas and romances. I thought being tied up was bad enough, watching you two make goo-goo eyes at each other is so much worse.”

“Good,” said Derek with one of those grins that was beautiful but oozed of danger. “Wouldn’t want you to enjoy yourself or anything.”

“That is freaky,” muttered Stiles. “It looks just like me, and yet –“

“- it’s nothing like you,” finished Derek firmly. Stiles blinked stupidly at him. 

“It’s the little things,” explained Derek. “You’re never still for one. This guy or girl or whatever it is, has way too much control of its body. You would never sit that stiffly. You’d be slouching, feet tapping, humming or blowing raspberries. Anything to avoid silence and stillness.”

Stiles snorted but couldn’t deny it.

“Weirdly they can mimic scent pretty good, but still it didn’t smell right. Not sure how to explain that one, but it just smelled wrong somehow. Also, it doesn’t have your flair for sarcasm. Felt off from the moment it opened its mouth. And it got way too much game. You’re many things, Stiles but smooth is not in your repertoire.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Stiles affronted and smacked Derek on the arm. “I’ve got game!”

Derek threw a look over his shoulder accompanied by one highly arched eyebrow. It was astounding how much Derek said when he said nothing.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Stiles admitted with a sigh. ”I’ve got no game at all. Totally gameless. Nada. Silch. Nichts. I was just misled to think I had game, but in retrospect it’s safe to conclude it was mostly magical mojo and a quarter fae all drugged up. The Stilinski Charm is like one of those mythical things you think possibly may exist but it turns out is just a fabric of one’s imagination.”

He was going for glib but even Stiles could hear it was falling flat landing closer to the limits of bitterness city than he was strictly comfortable with.

Silence followed.

The only sounds were that of the shapeshifter rattling its chains as it tried to put fingers in its ears while looking 200 % done, the other the voice inside his head yelling obscenities.

The tentative brush of fingers against his nape took him by surprise. Stiles closed his eyes and reveled in the contact. It was so light yet it vibrated through his entire body. ‘ _This is what it feels like to be alive’_ he thought stupidly; elated.

“Not just a myth,” said Derek softly. “The Stilinski charm I mean.”

Stiles was just two shakes from tossing his crutches and leap at Derek when he became aware of a snake in their midst.

“Oh my, isn’t this _cozy_ ," someone drawled silkily. 

Peter Hale slithered out from the shadows like the creep he was. Stiles suppressed the need to attack him with sharp objects. Derek’s face morphed into one of intense dislike.

“Peter,” he said stonily. Peter did a little bow and tipped an invisible hat.

“Nephew,” he replied smoothly and then grinned at Stiles. “And we’re soon to be family I gather. I’m delighted, Stilinski. Absolutely thrilled.”

“Haven’t you died yet?” Stiles glared. Peter shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not yet, no. Sorry to disappoint. But my oh my, what do we have here?”

He moseyed further into the room and clapped his hands excitedly at the sight of Not-Stiles. Stiles was amused to see that his clone looked equally repulsed by the appearance of Peter Hale. At least he got something right.

“Oh, now this is an amusing turn of events. Now we have two Stiles’ for the price of one.” He turned to Derek and cocked his head much like a puppy, eyes simpering.

“Can I keep one of them?”

“NO!” yelled Stiles and Derek in unison. Even the shapeshifter had chimed in, expression set in horror. Peter shrugged seemingly unconcerned.

“No need to get testy. It was just a suggestion after all. Might I make another?”

He ignored the fact that all three of them once again yelled no in sync like a perfectly rehearsed boy band.

“Without sounding like I’m bragging (“It already does,” muttered Derek) I’m actually a fountain of knowledge with regards to shapeshifters. There are different levels if you will and this one seems to be quite sophisticated. The detailing is remarkable, though it missed a mole there on the left cheek.”

He edged closer, but Derek stepped in front blocking his path.

“Get your paws off, uncle. And I think we can make do without you're words of advice. I don't trust anything out of your mouth.”

His voice was cold, his eyes matched. Peter’s mouth pursed in an annoyed manner, but a placid expression was in place seconds later. He backed away, arms raised. 

"As you wish, but don't come crying uncle when it all goes to hell."

Stiles watched Peter carefully as he retreated. He didn’t trust him one bit. And he wasn’t the only one not liking the development it seemed. Not-Stiles looked downright scared and it wasn’t until Derek took to shooing Peter towards the exit it began to relax again.

Just as Peter was about to grab for the door it glided open revealing Scott and Lydia wearing twin expressions of disgust.

“You,” hissed Lydia venomously.

“Me,” concluded Peter with a shrug. Lydia’s eyes slithered shut reminding Stiles of an Anaconda ready to pounce.

“You,” she repeated icily, “better be on your way out.”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m leaving. The smell is ghastly in here anyway. Brace yourself, Scott,” he offered offhandedly. “It smells like tension, dick and nerves.”

“Goodbye, Peter!” yelled Stiles hysterically desperate to deflect attention away from the awkwardness that was the Hale-Stilinski mating ritual.

Scott scrunched up his nose but didn’t say anything. Lydia smiled smugly but remained silent as well. She was soon too engrossed in alternating between snapping photos of Not-Stiles and scribbling furious notes onto her tablet anyway.

“Has he offered up any information,” she inquired while she for some unfathomable reason was measuring the circumference of its head. 

“We haven’t even gotten around to asking anything,” admitted Stiles. Scott’s eyes bugged in an “OMG did you get some” way. Stiles rolled his eyes. Honestly! He’d been here all of ten minutes. He was not that fast.

“I tried before you got here,” admitted Derek. “It’s not been particularly cooperative.”

“I’m not telling any of you anything.”

Not-Stiles spoke for the first time since insulting Stiles. “You’re fighting a losing battle anyway. She’s too powerful already; you’re powerless to stop her.”

“Well, she’s one ally down at least with you out of play and she’s lost the element of surprise,” remarked Scott coolly.

“Doesn’t matter. Jennifer has got more aces up her sleeve.”

“Thanks for the warning,” said Lydia saccharine. She was rooting around in her tote bag. “But I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Not possible, Ms. Martin. You have nothing I want. And besides, I hardly think you’d kill me. That one wouldn’t allow it anyway,” he said pointing at Scott.

“Also you have no idea who I really am. Turn me into the police and I’d just shapeshift into someone inconspicuous and walk away. I’ve done that before. I’m an expert at blending in. How do you think Jennifer got all her information in the first place?”

He looked quite pleased with himself. And then his face rippled.

Stiles groaned and turned away when the gut-churning body waves began. He’d seen one Polyjuice transformation too many already. He didn’t turn back until Scott gasped and Lydia angrily yelled “Oh no you didn’t!”

Not-Stiles had turned into Not-Lydia. Even the toss of hair was scarily similar, although it was a bit unsettling seeing her wearing jeans and a plaid shirt several sizes too large instead of her usual high fashion. Stiles could feel the fumes of anger coming off Lydia in waves.

“This is unacceptable,” she said disdainfully. The shapeshifter laughed.

“Thankfully,” she continued aloofly, “there is a way of stopping it. A way of breaking the glamor and revealing your true identity.”

Not-Lydia glared unimpressed up at them, but a slight twitch betrayed it. Nerves.

“Deaton calls it both a poison and a cure,” said Scott proudly as Lydia unscrewed the lid of a jar that she’d pulled out of her bag.

“ _Mistletoe_ ,” said Stiles with a smile.

“Precisely,” said Lydia and with a sweeping gesture tossed a fine dust of powdered mistletoe at the shapeshifter. The effect was instantaneous.

Engulfed in a cloud of whirling smoke, its features could be seen twisting and turning. If the darach had been disgusting, this thing was off the charts. And that was not counting the screaming.

Eventually the shrieks stopped and the smoke cleared. A figure could be seen slumped down, head bowed, covered in sweat.

“Clearly a man,” observed Lydia already at work with the camera. “Mid-thirties by the look of things.”

“Come on,” said Scott impatiently. “The gig is up; just show us your face.”

The figure shook his head, muttering angrily. It felt familiar somehow. Something tickled at Stiles’ subconscious.

“Oh, for the love of god!”

Derek stalked forward, grabbed hold of the guy’s hair and pulled his head up.

“Well,” said Stiles slowly his head still not entirely onboard with the recent development. “My eye for evil is certainly intact at least. Never liked you much to be honest.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” wheezed a very livid looking Adrian Harris. “Why do you think I thrived on giving you so many detentions?”

“Well, school’s out for you, buddy,” replied Stiles flicking out his phone. “Time to call in the cops I think.”

“I’ll just morph into someone else,” snarled Harris. “Like I told you, there’s no holding me. How would daddy dearest explain things if suddenly the mayor or the president was in his holding cell?”

“He wouldn’t need to say a thing.”

Lydia was smiling that scary smile usually reserved for moments of condescending disdain. She stepped forward and smoothly plunged a needle into Harris’ neck, pumping in a liquid in an alarming neon yellow color.

“A concoction courtesy of Alan Deaton. He says hello by the way. That was a dose of suppressant in case you were wondering. No more shape shifting for you, I’m afraid.”

Harris’ scream of frustration echoed off the walls, until Derek put a sock in his mouth. Literally.

“It fits you,” Stiles commented delightedly. “I’ve always thought you ‘socked’.”

“Oh god, your jokes are terrible,” said Derek with a fond eyeroll.

“Dude, you love them,” smiled Stiles with a wink as he speed-dialed his dad. He grinned through the entire conversation and expertly ignored Lydia’s knowing smile and Scott’s embarrassed head shakes. He only had eyes for Derek anyway and he was adorable when he was flustered. Stiles couldn’t wait to find out what else might make him blush.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've estimated this thing will end after approximately three more chapters. Maybe. Also for those fretting about the lack of sexy times... soon pets, soon. (which means next chapter, pinky swear).


	12. You know nothing, Derek Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where chicken is served, pain is drained, the sheriff lays down the law and Stiles and Derek do their very best to break it.

It was all really anti-climactic after that.

Harris clammed up completely after Lydia had dosed him with the suppressant and not any poking or prodding (not even the threat of having his throat ripped out) helped in the slightest in their efforts to unmute him. Personally Stiles vastly preferred this silent version of Harris and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the majority of the Beacon Hills High student mass would agree. Now however it would be much more productive if he'd give up and start spilling the beans on Jennifer. Sadly he didn't budge an inch. The only consolation was the knowledge that it was now Harris' turn to get 'detention'. Hopefully for years and years to come.

It didn’t take more than 25 minutes before the sheriff turned up with Parrish in tow. They seemed to have formed their own secret supernatural squad within the sheriff department. Stiles made mental notes to talk to them about the importance of wolfsbane bullets and mistletoe grenades. In fact they would probably need a consultant to get them up to speed and also a liaison to the supernatural world at large and naturally he would be the right man for the job. Stiles idly wondered if it would be a paying position. He had his doubts. Which was too bad. Roscoe needed a new carburetor.

His dad glanced around the train depot utterly unimpressed but his jaw dropped noticeably when he found Alan Harris chained up and brooding. Lydia stood guard arms crossed and a new syringe with neon yellow liquid at the ready. She made a stunning visual tableau.

“I never much cared for you to be honest,” his dad informed the former teacher as he was yanked to his feet and handcuffed securely.

“My dad, ladies and gentlemen,” sing-songed Stiles with a sweeping gesture that had one of the crutches falling to the floor with a lot of noise. “A man of impeccable taste and instincts, much like his handsome son. The Stilinski gene pool truly is a national treasure.”

“I’m also a man who distinctly remembers ordering you not to drive.” His dad levelled him with a quelling glare that Derek immediately mimicked.

“A minor detail that totally slipped my mind.”

Stiles went for the doe-eyed look. The effect was disappointing and spoke of house arrests to come.

“But I did help provide you with an accomplice to murder and the recovery of a missing assumed dead person, so call it even?”

“Even is not what I’d call it, but I’ll let it slide for the moment.”

Stiles knew not to stare a gift horse in the mouth and wisely shut up.

“I’m just going to call this in,” said the sheriff firmly, “and then you lot are going home. It’s school again tomorrow. And Stiles – _no driving_!”

“But dad, how am I supposed to get the Jeep home?” he whined with a pout. The sheriff was unmoved by his act. “I need it for school tomorrow! And Roscoe can’t stay behind here all by its lonesome. The carburetor is fragile.”

His dad stared back unfazed, too accustomed to Stiles’ attempts to guilt him into things to even bother responding.

“I’ll drive you home and we can take the Jeep,” offered Derek softly. “I can just run back for my car later.”

Stiles beamed. His dad sighed but nodded none the less. He startled slightly when the call to the station finally connected. 

“Hi Wilma, it’s the sheriff. I’m coming in with a suspect slash missing person – .“

He stopped mid-sentence listening intently. When his forehead turned into deep groves of worry Stiles knew nothing good was afoot.

“You’re kidding me?” he exclaimed tiredly.

Evidently Wilma was not one to kid.

“That’s just perfect. There goes my beauty sleep. Okay, we’re coming in. Please get deputy – who’s on shift now? Oh alright, get Deputy Stewart to start pulling files. And put on a fresh pot of coffee, we’ll need it.”

Scott and Stiles exchanged looks. This did not bode well. Either more murders had occurred or powers higher up was sweeping in to take over. Neither of the scenarios was preferable.

“I’ll be there in about 20 –“ He was cut off mid-sentence and his mood blackened as the person on the other end droned on. Stiles had a sinking feeling bad news were being relayed.

“Sure. Yes, I’ll let him know if I see him. What do you mean by that exactly? Of course I know how to get in touch with my son. What are you even insinuating? It seems to me you’re the one with trouble on that front. --- Yes of course.”

He ended the call with a huff and stuffed the phone angrily back in his pocket. If they’d been in a cartoon, black clouds and skulls would be circling his head. Stiles was almost afraid to ask. Almost.

Naturally curiosity would always trump fear. Something that would probably end up being the death of him. Stiles had always been a gambling man and accepted the risk. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked timidly. The sheriff was muttering under his breath before ordering Parrish to take Harris to the car. He turned around slowly, mouth set in a grim line.

“We have a small problem,” he conceded stiffly. His eyes sought out Scott who looked genuinely confused and something heavy settled in Stiles’ stomach. _Please no_ , he begged silently.

“These murders have caught the attention of the FBI,” said the sheriff wearily. “Agents have already arrived in town, and I’m expected to give a full debrief tomorrow morning. I need to head in and start getting the paperwork in order. That will take all night, especially since Parrish and I will have to come up with creative ways of concealing all traces of supernatural involvement. Which of course we now know makes up about 97 % of this case.”

“Do you need any help, dad? I’ve read most of your reports of the years, I can probably help put together something –“

Stiles fell silent at his dad’s quashing glare. The sheriff’s eyes softened moments later and he managed a small smile.

“I know you mean well, Stiles, but if we’re going to keep this under wraps the reports need to be 100 % by the book, and no offence son, but you’re not a 100 % by the book kind of guy. Besides, I want you resting up. And I don’t want you alone either, this Jennifer character is still out there and one kidnapping per quarter is more than enough.”

“He can stay with us,” said Scott. “What better place than with a trained nurse and a true alpha?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but secretly wouldn’t mind. Melissa McCall made the best pancakes in the world. Also it was nice being around Scott’s house – it had a mothery feel to it that Stiles missed achingly and wholeheartedly. It wasn’t the same of course – nothing could ever be the same – but it was still nice. And sometimes Stiles suspected Melissa might know that, because she’d ruffle his hair, squeeze his hand or pat his cheek and it was all he could do to hold the tears back.

“Thank you for the offer, Scott but I’m afraid that won’t be possible tonight.”

His dad looked at Scott with a fond sadness that made Stiles wonder if Scott felt the same way about his dad that he did about Melissa.

“Why?”

“Your dad’s one of the agents, Scott.”

Stiles watched as Scott’s face morphed from slight confusion to ill-concealed rage. His relationship with his dad was complicated to say the least. Scott had refused to talk to him the last time he was here and had confided to Stiles he hoped he’d never see him again. No such luck it turned out.

“Of course he is,” he said stonily, face uncharacteristically blank. Stiles knew better. When Scott shut down like this is was definitely room to worry.

“Let me guess – he wants to have a family meeting.”

The sheriff clasped a comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Something like that. He wasn’t particularly forthcoming with the details.”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That was him on the phone?”

The sheriff nodded. “Yes indeed. He ripped the phone out of poor Wilma’s hands and gave me a stern talking to about not keeping track of my own son and how he was a poor influence on you.”

“HEY!” yelled Stiles affronted. “I’m an excellent influence. Particularly with calculus and history.”

“He wasn’t referring to your academic influence, son.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Stiles deflated slightly and smiled sheepishly to the room at large. “In that case he might have a point.”

“It’s not important, and not even particularly true. I might not come up with all the ideas but I’m smart enough to know most of them means trouble and I still do it. So I’m as much to blame as Stiles. Is he at the station now?”

The sheriff nodded. “Yes, but he informed me he’d be at your house within half an hour.”

Scott sighed and then seemed to steel himself. “Better get a move on then. Lydia, I’ll take you home first. I’m not letting mom be alone with him for even a second. I think you should sit this one out, Stiles.”

Scott was in full puppy mode. Stiles was as helpless as the rest of the world in the face of that.

“Don’t worry about it, bro. Your dad and I have a special repertoire and I think my presence would be counterproductive.”

“What does that even mean – “ _special repertoire_ ”?”

Stiles squirmed slightly under his dad’s harsh glower.

“I think it means what you think it means. I mean he’s not exactly a ray of sunshine and tends to talk ill of all Stilinskis and I hope you don’t mean that I should just take that, if you know what I mean. So I might perhaps have been a bit mean in my dialogue with him. Just an eenie meenie teenie weenie bit. ”

“Stiles!”

Stiles flailed about and Derek swooped in to catch the crutches that were once again spilling to the floor like errant confetti. Just not as festive and way noisier.

“What? It’s not like I was rude unprovoked or anything. And Scott didn’t mind did you, buddy?”

Scott shook his head firmly. “Not one bit.”

“See!”

The sheriff just shook his head and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Stiles couldn’t hear what he was mumbling about but it made Scott chuckle at least. Derek was biting his lip which was all kinds of distracting in all the wrong ways.

“I better get going then,” said Scott miserably. “I’m really sorry you can’t come, Stiles.”

“I’m not. Or no no, that came out wrong – “ he backtracked when Scott’s face fell “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you, but not sorry to avoid your dad. Stiles and the agent do not mix well.”

“Stiles should also stop referring to himself in the third person,” mumbled Derek. Stiles whacked him on the leg with a crutch.

Lydia had suffered through the exchange with a neutral air but had clearly had enough. She handed over a set of syringes with the suppressant and a lengthy instruction on dosage and how to administer it to a dazed looking Parrish who had returned to let the sheriff know they were good to go. Lydia and Scott left in a cloud of gloom. Parrish arched an eyebrow at the sheriff who gestured for him to follow them out. He all but sped out of the room and the awkward trio was left nervously behind.

The sheriff looked pained and kept scratching his head. Stiles on the other hand felt slightly giddy. With Casa McCall out of the question it looked like he’d be spending the night helping his dad after all.

“So daddy, looks like I’ll be helping you out with the files after all. Could we like pick up some pizza on the way? I’m starving!”

He hobbled towards the exit throwing a look at Derek over his shoulder.

“Could you drive me to the sheriff station instead?”

“No, Derek will do no such thing.”

What the –!

Stiles mentally groaned. He should’ve known…

“Dad,” he said pleadingly. “Please, I’m too old for babysitters and Mrs. Gibson is notorious for her bowel-moving casseroles and the endless slideshows with photos of her award-winning bulldogs. I don’t think mixing that with a mild concussion is the way to promote healing.”

“Stiles – “

“Come on, dad. I’m not that much of a nuisance am I? Don’t answer that,” he added hastily when the sheriff cocked his head to the side in a gesture that didn’t exactly leave him with warm and fuzzy feelings. In fact he could already kind of smell the stench of Mrs. Gibson’s cabbage casserole.

The sheriff stared at him pointedly. Stiles squirmed.

“Dad?” he ventured cautiously. “Can I come with or not?”

The sheriff pursed his lips and seemed to come to a hard-argued conclusion.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I can’t take you to the station with FBI breathing down my neck. Everything has to be on the up and up, I hope you can understand that. But –“

He held out a finger to stop the protestations threatening to spill from Stiles’ already open mouth.

“But – and I can’t believe I’m actually going to suggest this.” He shook his head tiredly and levelled Derek with a titanium grade glare. “Would it be okay if Stiles stayed at your place for the night?”

He finished the sentence as though chewing on something vile and toxic like Mrs. Gibson's cabbage casserole. Derek was staring at him blankly. There was a lot of blinking involved.

“At my loft – _him_?” he managed somewhat incoherently. Stiles had to mentally dial back and play it over several times before he was sure he hadn’t just misheard.

“Me? _There_?” he managed in a squeaky voice that made Mickey Mouse sound butch, pointing between him and Derek and back again.    

“Don’t make this worse than it is,” pleaded the sheriff sounding suddenly very old. “I need my son safe, Derek and I trust him to your care tonight. However do not interpret this display as some sort of blessing for any sexual activities. I’m not condoning that.”

“DAD!”

“Don’t _dad_ me, mister. And Derek, I mean it. He’s underage and injured, and both are valid reasons to keep your paws to yourself.”

“Is this happening?” muttered Stiles casting his eyes heavenward.

“Oh, it’s happening alright. And need I remind you that I have access to high tech crime scene equipment and can send in a team to sweep the apartment for traces of sperm if necessary.”

Derek had never looked more solemn in his life. Or embarrassed. Stiles was considering emancipation.

“And this warning goes double for you, Stiles,” continued his dad clearly on a roll. “I trust Derek far more than you on this matter, so don’t you go throwing yourself at him do you hear me.”

“Is this my life?” muttered Stiles aghast. “This is the worst thing ever. Why would you think I’d throw anything at him, least of all my injured body?”

The sheriff actually laughed at that and patted Stiles on the shoulder. “I live with you, boy. Need I spell it out for you?”

“You fucking suck,” said Stiles with feeling. His dad looked at him pointedly and shrugged.

“As long as you don’t suck then I’m golden. And that goes for the both of you,” he added with a stern finger at Derek. Stiles was doing a marvelous trout impersonation.

“By the way that was another dollar on the swear jar as well, son.”

And with that his dad swept from the room leaving behind enough tension to fuel a small spaceship.

 

*******

“So…”

Stiles was standing unsteadily in the middle of Derek’s loft with absolutely no fucking clue what to do about anything.

The drive over had been tense. For once Stiles hadn’t managed to think of a single thing to say and god knew Derek had never been known to waste words. So it had been awkward and quiet.

Stiles did not do quiet.

So he’d taken to fiddling with the radio and no one would ever accuse the Jeep of being well-equipped in that area. The only stations he could get in without too much static was Enlightened Christ FM who played hymns nonstop and a local station specializing in all things electronica. Judging by the scowl and set of his eyebrows Derek was not a fan of either, but Stiles had insisted on some sort of sound to hopefully drown out his erratic heartbeat and so he’d cranked up the volume of something that sounded like David Guetta and spent the entire drive drumming out fitful rhythms on his thighs.

That had led his thoughts to what kind of music Derek preferred. Going by the leather jackets he seemed to favor some sort of rock or metal, but it was much more entertaining picturing him shimmying around to Ariana Grande or perhaps belting out a mournful country number. Stiles had made a mental pact to crack the mystery of Derek Hale and his Secret Music Preference which incidentally sounded like a weird pop group. Or a Harry Potter book. He was hoping his stay at the loft might provide some clues.

“So,” he repeated awkwardly spinning around on the spot not really knowing what to do or what to say. Derek had just finished bolting the door and was regarding him with an unreadable expression.

“I’m not sure what to do or say here,” admitted Stiles somewhat sheepishly. He waved a crutch around as an extended arm. Thankfully Derek’s loft was still as sparsely furnished as ever and no damage was done.

Derek’s look morphed from unreadable to determined and before Stiles could get a word in edgewise the werewolf was steering him resolutely towards the spiral staircase.

“What the hell, dude!”

Stiles tried to whirl around to get a look at Derek, but with the bad knee and the crutches it was next to impossible.

“You should relax,” said Derek firmly taking hold of Stiles and lifting him clear off the ground.

“This is not helping me relax!” yelled Stiles exasperatedly. “Put me down!”

“How are you going to get up these stairs with crutches?” asked Derek practically and before Stiles knew what was happening they were ascending the stairs. It was equal parts humiliating (and thank god Isaac wasn’t here to witness it) and arousing (because hello biceps!).

At the top Derek dumped him unceremoniously on the couch by the huge TV and tossed him the remote.

“Have at it,” he muttered and disappeared down the stairs again without any explanation.

“Where are you going?” bellowed Stiles in his most put-upon tone of voice.

“I’ll be back soon,” was the muffled reply. “Now relax for god’s sake. I have HBO.”

“Sweet! A man after my own taste,” crowed Stiles and burrowed into the pillows. He completely missed the stifled half-moan from below.

 

*****

Stiles loved HBO. He truly did. He loved it so much his dad had cancelled their subscription because it might or might not have taken over all hours that were normally reserved for sleeping. It was therefore incredibly ironic that when he finally had access to it again the first thing Stiles did was fall asleep.

The pain medication and the stress of being kidnapped might have been contributing factors, but the fact remained that Stiles was only halfway into an episode of Game of Thrones before he drifted off. When he woke it was to Derek gently nudging his arm. On the screen poor Sansa Stark was forced to stare at her dad’s decapitated head. Westeros definitely was a worse place than Beacon Hills, which was just sad considering he was comparing his life to a work of fiction.

“Wazzup?” he muttered groggily. He blinked owlishly up at Derek who for some outlandish reason was wearing an apron.

“Apron,” he pointed out uselessly. Derek glared.

“Food,” he countered and set down a tray of –“

“What the hell is that?” Stiles gaped at the display before him. Derek harrumphed.

“Chicken parmesan,” he replied testily. He magicked a couple of plates out of seemingly nowhere. “Don’t tell me you don’t eat chicken. I’ve seen you devour it on many occasions.”

“Dude, I love chicken!” exclaimed Stiles all of a sudden very awake and extremely ravenous. “You didn’t make this did you?” He was already busy heaping food onto his plate, burning his fingers in the process and cursing creatively.

“Why?” Derek looked slightly affronted and handed Stiles a napkin.

“I don’t know,” said Stiles with a shrug. “It just sort of messes with my mental projection of you as a very alpha male. Get it? _Alpha_ male.”

“Ha freaking ha,” deadpanned Derek and handed Stiles a can of Coke. “And I’m not an alpha anymore. And even if I was, why would me cooking be a problem?”

Stiles moaned. And then yelped and dived for the coke.

“Hot!” he supplied in response to Derek’s raised eyebrow. “And also very good. Delicious comes to mind.”

He continued to make very pleased sounds bordering on obscene as he dug into the dish with relish. He only came up for air when he noticed that Derek still looked somewhat perturbed.

“Oh,” he said and swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean anything by the comment about you cooking. I cook all the time. Not as good as this mind you, but I have no problem with it in any way. In fact you can cook for me any time you want. I was just kind of taken aback by the flowery apron and the alpha joke, tasteless as it was, just begged to be told.”

Derek snorted and shook his head, finally taking a bite of his own creation. Stiles went back to inhaling his food keeping an eye on Derek to gauge his reaction. He always managed to blurt out stuff without thinking.

“I think you’re on the mend,” commented Derek drily. “You’re back to blabbering. Sadly I’ve learned that is a sign of health where you’re concerned.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Funny wolf. You like my blabbering, I just know it.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Derek’s mouth but he didn’t comment. Instead he just took a sip of his Coke.

“Eat your food, Stiles. And try not to spill it on my couch.”

“Who knew you were this domestic,” said Stiles offhandedly. Derek tossed the remote at him in response, making him drop his fork.

“Shut up and put the show back on. I want to glower at Joffrey.”

Stiles laughed for a good minute but did as requested.

 

*******

Stiles fell asleep again somewhere north of the wall. At least that was the last thing he remembered. The slight confusion he experienced when his whole world suddenly started moving was therefore not totally unwarranted.

“What’s going on?” he slurred and burrowed into a pillow. Only to realize it wasn’t really a pillow at all. It was definitely warm but not as fluffy as expected.

“It’s bedtime,” someone answered softly. Was this really a good time to sleep though? Who would be keeping watch? And what if the White Walkers came?

“There’re Walkers out there,” he muttered. The voice chuckled. “Don’t worry; I’ll protect you from them.”

“Are you Jon Snow?” he murmured blearily. Stiles liked Jon Snow. He also greatly approved of Jon Snow’s physique. Too bad Kit Harington was bundled up in so many layers all the time. It made him appreciate the underground cave scene with Ygritte all the more.

“Not even close.”

Slowly things clicked into place.

Kidnapped. Jennifer Blake. Chicken Parmesan. _Derek_.

“You still know nothing, Derek Hale,” Stiles half huffed. “And why are you carrying me? I must say this is becoming an alarming habit.”

He glanced up and dear god! Derek looked good from all angles. Stiles now had empirical proof!

“I know enough. For one I know that it’s time for you to sleep somewhere that isn’t going to leave you with a stiff neck and more aches. And also your knee is swollen; I think it’s best to stay off it for the time being.”

“So bossy,” chided Stiles but there was no venom or anger behind it. He was just too comfortable and drowsy to muster up the energy to activate his usual level of sass.

Derek didn’t answer. Instead Stiles found himself being deposited carefully on top Derek’s bed. He recognized the bedspread from the other day – and yes, this was definitely “his” side of the bed. It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and he was in all likelihood possibly absolutely grinning very widely. Stupidly widely in fact.

While Derek put the crutches away Stiles kicked off the sweatpants and his socks and was immediately more or less swallowed by the softness of Derek’s duvet.

“This bed is amazing,” he sighed and rolled onto his side, nesting into it. Derek’s soft snort was muffled and when Stiles opened a lazy eyelid he got quite the eyeful. He was pulling off his t-shirt, and had already deposited off his sinfully tight jeans and put on some very low-hanging and soft-looking pajamas pants.

Stiles gulped audibly. He was not equipped to deal with this. Or – that was not entirely true. He was indeed _equipped_ to deal – just not mentally. His willpower was at an all-time low. If Derek expected him to sleep innocently next to him all night, Derek was a very _very_ delusional werewolf.

“I believe you asked the bed for its hand in marriage last time,” said Derek and immediately both lapsed into a tense silence. They’d done an amiable job of not mentioning _that_. Grade A avoidance effort on both parts, truly embracing Stiles’ life motto of ignoring problems until they went away.

Only it hadn’t really gone away. At all.

But before Stiles could come up with something witty or glib to smooth things over Derek had escaped into the bathroom.

The next five minutes was spent trying and failing to find a comfortable position all the while attempting to evoke a Zen frame of mind that would allow Stiles to actually fall asleep. He had enough aching parts already; there was absolutely no need to add an aching member to the list.

It was a losing battle.

Even the sound of Derek brushing his teeth was erotic. Stiles was clearly a very damaged young man. The only solution he could come up with was to wrap the duvet around him like a burrito and thus try to both hide and squash all evidence of arousal.

The wide-eyed look of surprise and slight blush on Derek’s cheeks when he returned spoke of epic failure. Still he didn’t comment, for which Stiles was eternally grateful and instead simply slipped under the covers with the all the smooth grace Stiles so dearly lacked.

Their breaths were in sync.

It was also the only audible sound in the room aside from a slight drip from the faucet in the adjacent bathroom. Stiles cursed his very existence. This would most likely be a _very long_ night.

Derek switched off the lamp on his night stand and the room fell into semi-darkness. The moon shone in through the curtainless window leaving them bathed in soft blue light.

“Goodnight,” whispered Derek.

“Yeah, right of course. Sleepytime. Goodnight.”

It was pure torture.

Being so close and not touching was like inviting someone into a candy shop with strict instructions not to indulge. The minutes ticked by and the tension seem to grow like yeast. Stiles felt restless, itchy, his knee ached and he was becoming increasingly aware of a large bruise on his lower back. Unable to endure another second, he shifted around trying to find a more comfortable position.

He wasn’t very successful.

In fact all he managed was to get himself even more tangled up in the covers.

“You’re in pain.”

Derek’s voice was almost inaudible but it still hit Stiles like a hammer.

“It’s alright,” he whispered back, his heart beating a mile a minute revealing the lie. “It’s just bruises making themselves known. I’ll live.”

Derek huffed. “I know you’ll live, silly. But neither of us will get any sleep unless you can lie still. So just let me take your pain okay?”

“Okay,” whispered Stiles breathlessly. The duvet rustled and Derek was turning around facing him. He chanced a glance in his direction and couldn’t hold back the gasp when he found Derek staring right at him, expression guarded but questioning.

“Where?” he asked with a slight gesture of his head. “Where does it hurt most?”

“My lower back.”

Derek nodded. “Turn around.”

Stiles swallowed audibly and began the cumbersome process of turning on his side without fucking up his knee more than necessary. His heart was beating so fast it was like bongo drums echoing through his body, loud and unrepentant.

Electricity coursed through him when Derek’s hand reached out and gently pulled his t-shirt up to expose his back. He could feel it from the tips of his hair to his pinky toe. His entire body was strumming, on edge; ready to explode.

“Oh,” said Derek softly. “That looks painful.” Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak and opted for a small body spasm that only intensified when a tentative finger brushed his skin.

“Did I hurt you?” Derek sounded terrified and Stiles hurried to shake his head adding a mumbled “no”.

Encouraged Derek placed his palm flat against Stiles’ skin. It only took a moment before the pleasurable sensation of pain being drained away began. It was heaven. Stiles’ body became pliable, boneless.

His dick however was an entirely different story.

It was pleasure and release and it was Derek touching him and Stiles was utterly ineffably defenseless to the wave of want and arousal that engulfed him. It was probably rolling off him in waves bordering on tsunamis but he was powerless to stop it. It kept building, expanding, multiplying until the only thing he could do to prevent it from spilling over, erupting like a freaking volcano, driving him completely insane was to let out a guttural moan and buck his body against Derek.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was broken and hitched. “Stiles, we can’t. Your dad –“

“-isn’t here,” whined Stiles his mouth muffled by pillows and his own inability to form proper words.

“He was very clear. We can’t. I can’t…” Derek trailed off, his hand still hot on Stiles’ back.

“He’s also not an idiot. And he’ll never know anyway. The budget cuts this spring lost him the forensic tech he was boasting about anyway…”

He trailed off and arched his back; ass grinding against Derek. He was so hard and he needed something – _anything_ – to help relieve the mounting arousal. He needed friction!

“Fuck it,” he mumbled and yanked his boxers down allow his aching member to spring free. It leaked pre-cum smearing his stomach as Stiles rushed to take matters into hand. He moaned sinfully when his fingers wrapped around his cock and gave it a tight stroke.

He was way beyond embarrassment, miles past ‘don’t-give-a-fuck’ and steadily approaching Pleasureville population Stiles. If he’d been even slightly less aroused he’d been mortified by the porn-worthy sounds that spilled from his mouth as he continued his ministrations. But holy hell never had a hand job felt better!

Apparently this was the final straw to spiral Derek into action as well. He let out a guttural sound half between a groan and a growl. It shuddered down Stiles’ spine intensifying the sensations turning the last coherent thoughts he possessed into mush.

Then everything exploded into colors and sensations and holy crap! Stiles was wrong! That was not the best hand job ever. _This was_!

Derek growled impatiently into Stiles’ ear turning every surface of his skin to fields of goose bumps, and brusquely pushed his hand aside replacing it with his own firm grip. Stiles meowed.

“Holy fuck,” he wheezed.  
“That’s the idea,” replied Derek in a low voice that did things to Stiles that he didn’t think was possible. All of them very, very dirty.

Derek plastered his entire body up against Stiles’ so no part was left untouched. He thrust his hips forward and _Christ_!

“Clothes,” muttered Stiles incoherently. “Clothes off, all of them.”

“Same with this fucking duvet,” replied Derek yanking at the covers Stiles had more or less fused his body to distracting him by latching onto the back of Stiles’ neck, nuzzling, licking, biting playfully.

“I want to see you.”

It was all Stiles could do not to come on the spot.

The next minute was filled with the frantic pulling of clothes, creative cursing and at some point one of them threw the covers recklessly across the room. And then they were both naked. Stiles stared incredulously up at Derek who was hovering above him, his hand on the bad knee draining pain, his eyes raking over him with a hunger that had Stiles’ breath hitch. He was sparkling with anticipation.

And then, like some inaudible starter gun had signaled them, they were kissing.

And it was nothing like the time Lydia kissed him, or the sloppy kisses shared with Heather. Not even the incubus-infused ones with Parrish came close.

They kissed like they bantered – passionately, no holds bar, one hundred percent without restraint. It was bruising and hot and dear god, Stiles could do this forever.

“Never stop,” he gasped when they came up for air for just a brief second, both panting, eyes feverish and desperate. Derek trailed a finger over his plump lips, tracing it. Stiles latched onto it like a starving man, sucking it into his mouth, curling his tongue around it.

Derek growled deep in his throat and his eyes flashed blue. Stiles’ body reacted instantly, bucking up clashing their groins together; pulling Derek down on top of him.

“God, that’s sexy,” he rasped his voice raw and scratchy. Derek answered with another growl deep in the crock of his neck. His tongue hot on his pulse point, inhaling, scenting. Biting.

“Like that, do you?” Derek inquired breathlessly. Stiles answered with another hip crushing grind and then it was Derek’s turn to moan.

“Love your moles,” he panted. “Always wondered if there were more of them.”

“Always?” asked Stiles incredulously. He was watching in awe as Derek trailed his tongue from mole to mole on his chest like a sensual connect-the-dots game. He glanced up at him as his mouth hovered over an erect nipple. He didn’t answer the question, only grinned devilishly before latching on to Stiles’ sensitive bud, using just the right amount of teeth to send waves of pleasure cascading through his nerve endings, short-circuiting the last coherent thoughts he possessed.

Teeth were replaced by fingers; pinching and rubbing. Derek’s mouth travelled south antagonizingly slow setting Stiles body on fire in the process. If he lived through the night it would be a miracle. But what a way to go!

He was trembling with anticipation, mouth babbling interjected by moans. Derek’s hand hadn’t touched his dick again after they undressed. He kept grinding into whichever body part he could reach, seeking friction and release any way he could. Derek’s unhurried travel south was giving him ideas, anticipations, expectations.

He bucked again, feeling his erection grind sinfully against Derek’s hard body. He couldn’t help it. It was reflex and instinct pure and simple.

“Derek, I need… I need…”

He couldn’t form sentences, there wasn’t enough blood circulating to his brain to maintain any kind of lucid thought process. He was reduced to basic instincts and nothing else.

“I know exactly what you need,” growled Derek, pinning Stiles’ hips down onto the bed with strong hands, fingers digging into his skin almost painfully. Stiles whined and struggled against the hold, almost but not at all surprised by how incredibly turned on it made him.

And then the world exploded.

Guttural sounds was all that spilled from Stiles open and panting mouth as he stared down on a sight forever imprinted on his mind: Derek holding him down, werewolf strength preventing him from moving as he sucked down on Stiles’ cock like a starving mad man.

Stiles would never go down in the history books under the classification of ‘hung’ but his dick was by no standard small. So when he felt the tip hit the back of Derek’s throat, his nose buried in Stiles’ pubes, he was powerless to stop the orgasm shattering through him.

For a few moments Stiles’ mind was totally blank. He was boneless, sated and loopy and only regained some sort of grip on reality when Derek’s good-natured chuckle tickled up in his ears.

“I’m not even surprised,” he said smilingly, fingers tracing patterns on Stiles’ abdomen. “You never shut up, not even after sex when most people are to blissed out to say anything.”

Stiles opened a lazy eyelid and peered down at Derek. “What? Was I talking?”

Derek laughed softly. “Muttering incoherently is a better description. You okay?”

“Okay? No I’m not okay, I’m fucking _fantastic_.” He grinned lazily and watched as Derek wiped his mouth sucking a finger into his mouth.

“Oh god, you swallowed. That is so freaking hot. And your mouth - I want to write sonnets about it. Or possibly just a haiku. Still poetry though. And keep doing that –“ he gestured to Derek’s hands that didn’t seem to want to stop touching, caressing him – “and I’ll soon be good to go again.”

Then his eyes widened comically and he sat up abruptly.

“Dude! I need to return the favor! Little Derek – who is not very little by the way, just saying – hasn’t joined the orgasm-party yet.”

Derek might have protested, but it was very weakly and besides Stiles didn’t pay much attention. He was too busy pushing Derek over on his back and then proceeded to climb on top of him, sitting on his thighs. Derek’s cock was at full mast, erect and leaking. Stiles itched to get his hands on it, but first there was something else he had to do.

He draped himself over Derek, captured his lips again. This time the kisses were slower, more languid and yet still even hotter. Dirtier somehow; sloppy and knowing the bitter taste on Derek’s tongue was his own cum was strangely arousing.

Derek’s hands snaked around his midriff squeezing him even more firmly against his torso. Stiles needed to pay homage to those pecks and began a trail of filthy kisses and bites down Derek’ neck. He in turn countered by grabbing hold of Stiles’ ass, kneading and bucking his hips up so his cock smeared paths of precome across Stiles’ stomach.

“Oh my God,” gasped Derek as Stiles licked a broad stroke across a sensitive nipple. “You really are 17! Already?”

“I’m not even a little sorry,” mumbled Stiles breathlessly, his mouth busy mapping out every inch of Derek’s chest.

“I can’t last much longer,” panted Derek and sloppily dragged Stiles face up for another bruising kiss. The groins kept grinding, dicks touching and suddenly Stiles realized he still hadn’t so much as stroked Derek’s cock once. He pulled away with a sloppy pop and Derek actually whined at the loss. Stiles ignored it. He was a man on a mission.

He sat up again getting a full view of Derek sprawled out, face flushed, eyes glazed and his cock – Christ it was beautiful. He didn’t waste more time and wrapped his long fingers around it, squeezing, stroking, running a finger over the slit.

Derek keened.

“Tell me how you like it,” demanded Stiles feeling a rush of power.

“I won’t last long – hard and fast,” begged Derek and Stiles eagerly complied. The sounds – The sounds were guttural, animalistic and sweet Jesus – he could probably get off just looking at this.

“I’m so close,” whimpered Derek and Stiles sped up his ministrations. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, a whole new level opened up. His mind had left the building and now it was just instinct steering his every action. Derek’s eyes widened as Stiles slid out of his lap and determinedly let his free hand roam to Derek’s balls, and then further down, down until a tentative finger brushed against his hole. He pushed gently, cautiously but it was enough to make Derek curse loudly.

“Do it,” he wheezed and Stiles didn’t think, just did; feeling the tight ring of muscle give way and then his index finger slid in down to his first knuckle.

Derek howled, bucked and stilled. Stiles watched breathlessly as he came all over his hand and his stomach. Without thinking he swiped up some of the cum and smeared it over his own cock.

One. Two. Three strokes and Stiles crashed into oblivion.

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how much i struggled with this chapter. Writing sexy times does not come naturally to me, so if it feels stilted and choppy and not at all that sexy, i won't be offended. Truthfully it gave me flashbacks to writing Quidditch scenes in HP fanfiction and i was terrible at that too. 
> 
> I've estimated this will be 14 chapters long. It might stretch to 15 depending on how much stiles and derek decides to misbehave. i have little control over them to be honest.


	13. Too cocky for 6 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the sheriff is caffeine-deprived, Stiles is chipper, Derek is crude, the boys are crazy horny, Peter is a creeper and there's a surprise by the car.

Bliss.

That was the only way to describe the sensation coursing through him. It was a foreign feeling yet recognizable and oh so welcome. Stiles could get used to bliss.

He turned languidly taking in the surroundings and was somehow not surprised to feel the coarse ridges of tree rings against his fingers. He traced one lazily, feeling calm. In balance.

Unlike the other dreams – nightmares really – that usually left him paralyzed with fear, drenched in terror and dread Stiles now felt assured, safe.

Connected.

It’s dark all around him yet Stiles was bathed in the soft light from the full moon trickling through the dense canopy surrounding the Nemeton. He’s sitting on top of it, breath calm, palms up. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and felt something shift into place. Slotting together like puzzle pieces; creating something intangible yet reachable. It’s warm, it felt red and it was pulsating.

When Stiles opened his eyes his arms were outstretched and he’s encircled by leaves. Perfectly shaped oak leaves hovered in the air all around him. Waiting. Stiles slowly moved one arm and the leaves followed his direction. He was the conductor, they were his orchestra. It made sense yet it didn’t.

Derek was there.

Stiles could feel his presences just out of sight and reach. Waiting. It was comforting; reassuring.

A leaf fell to the ground and another vibrated, threatened to follow. Something was challenging the balance. As if sensing the threat the wolf that Stiles knew was Derek materialized from the dark and started pacing the perimeter of the Nemeton, patrolling.

Another leaf dropped. It shattered when it hit the ground. Derek growled.

It was so fast. Just a shadow, something he perceived in the periphery, startling him.

It whirled by, black, indistinct and lethal. Was it Jennifer? Stiles struggled to keep the leaves afloat. It was important to keep the balance, not lose control.

It happened so fast. He barely had time to register Derek’s howl of rage before it was on him. Huge, hairy, teeth.

Then there’s only pain.

The leaves all shattered mid-air and crumbled to the ground, lifeless; dead.

 

***

Stiles woke with a gasp by trumpets blaring. _Literally and loudly_!

“Fucking dad,” he muttered bleary-eyed as he trashed around patting the floor to locate his jeans. The reveille continued playing on with escalating volume assaulting his ears and shocking his body. Beside him someone growled and Stiles almost toppled out of the bed as the events of last night came back to him in glorious Technicolor detail.

“Shut it off,” mumbled Derek and buried his head deeper under the pillows. Stiles finally managed to gracelessly fish out his phone.

“Sorry, it’s dad. He thinks it’s funny to change the ringtone on my phone. It’s the downside of having a cop as a parent – they’re sneaky shits. The previous song was “Daddy Cool” by Boney M in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” muttered Derek. “But thanks for sharing. Now please answer your phone or I’ll help it out the window.”

“Someone’s not a morning wolf,” said Stiles with a dopey grin. Sleep-rumpled Derek was adorable.

“Phone, Stiles!”

The reveille had started its second run-through and unless he answered soon his dad was likely to send over a squad car. Or who was he kidding? He’d send in a SWAT team.

“Yo dad! Top of the morning to you!” Stiles went for exuberant. It was not well-received.

“You took your sweet time answering. Any particular reason?” His dad’s voice was raspy and tired; both tell-tale signs of an all-nighter.

“I was sleeping,” answered Stiles pleasantly. “Lovely tune you’ve chosen this time. Very lively. Also soul-crushingly terrifying. My heart thanks you for the exercise.”

His dad harrumphed on the other end and Stiles could mentally see him squinting his eyes in suspicion.

“You’re awfully chipper for someone rudely awakened at 6 am. Any particular reason?”

Stiles paled. His dad was right! He was never this cheerful before noon which promptly catapulted him into a minor freak-out. Derek’s warm hand on his chest calmed him down enough to at least attempt to spin a believable story.

“You mean other than the sound of my father’s loving voice combined with the prospect of another week of higher education and possibly my life being at risk from supernatural villains?” he ventured going for ass-licking. Jackson would be proud.

Derek peeked out from the pillows and conveyed his opinion of Stiles’ tactics with an impressive eyebrow game. Clearly he was not noteworthy impressed.

Neither was the sheriff.

“I’m assembling a forensic team as we speak,” he said threateningly. Stiles rolled his eyes and scratched his belly absentmindedly. His fingers came back with flakes of dried cum.

“No need for that,” he said hastily surveying the mess they’d made with a deepening blush. “I’m firmly tucked in under a lovely quilt on the couch. I fell asleep watching HBO.”

It was technically true. No need to inform his dad there’d been a change of venue after that. The sheriff huffed.

“Derek didn’t offer you his bed? You’re injured for god’s sake. What kind of boyfriend is he?”

Stiles’ almost dropped his phone as Derek walloped him with a pillow and sneered. Stiles was somewhat surprised (but not really) to find it both scared and aroused him.

“The best kind,” he squeaked shrilly, flailing at Derek who was threatening him with another pillow. Jesus how many did he have in here?

“It was the best thing for my knee. He totally got me a stool to keep it elevated and tucked me in with like seventeen pillows and six blankets. I’m golden. Peachy even.”

“The forensic team is still coming,” threatened his dad through what sounded like clenched teeth. Stiles windmilled in frustration.

“Seriously, dad! I read the report about the budget cuts. Your threats are baseless.”

“You truly are a little shit, you know that right?” His voice had morphed into something half annoyed half impressed. Stiles grinned.

“I know. And that’s a dollar _out_ of the swear jar and _to_ yours truly. And why exactly did you call other than to torment your only son?”

Stiles heard the sound of papers rustling on the other end.

“Just wanted to make sure you got up in time to swing by home and get your things before school. I also wanted to give you an update on the Harris situation.”

Both Stiles and Derek sat up straighter. Derek’s thigh brushed Stiles’ and his breath hitched. A healthy dose of _want_ coursed through him waking up _all_ parts of him. His dad’s frustrated voice partially doused it. Emphasis on _partial_. Derek hummed. Stiles might not survive the day.

“Harris refused to say anything about Jennifer,” he started sounding very tired. “Which didn’t really surprise us, but was still disappointing. We’ve had limited time to interrogate him on account of the FBI. We have no credible way of linking him to the crimes as of now. They gave us some leeway since he’s been missing for months, but on the record we have no real grounds to keep him here. Best case scenario I can stall his release until lunch.”

“Crap.”

“Crap indeed,” agreed his dad with a deep sigh. “That’s partly why I’m calling. If you can think of anything that can help us here I’d appreciate it. I’d loathe sending a murder accomplice with shapeshifiting abilities out on the streets again. And I can't believe I just said that out loud.”

“Personally I feel you should be able to arrest him on the grounds of failure to teach and grade A douchebaggery,” huffed Stiles indignantly.

“Sadly that isn’t enough for us to arrest him in the eyes of the law,” replied his dad drily. “And if this is the level of seriousness you’re willing to apply I’d rather call Lydia.”

Stiles cringed. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Never call Lydia Martin before 7 am. It’s not worth it. I did that once and the mental scars have not yet healed.”

“Fine, but don’t think I haven’t got better things to do than listen to you blabber nonsense. I have a debriefing to host, FBI agents to dodge, files to falsify and we ran out of coffee three hours ago.”

“Sorry,” muttered Stiles and did his best to get his brain going. It was slower than usual. Probably because parts of it were still blown away by the activities of last night. And thoughts of that was _not_ helping.

So Harris hadn’t really done any killing if what Jennifer said was true. She’d indicated he’d served as her eyes and ears around town, which probably meant Harris had been impersonating their Chemistry teachers this year since they’d been the ones kidnapped, sliced open and left to rot on top of the Nemeton. No wonder Stiles had gotten Harris vibes off of Mrs ScaryFreak! That again meant his perceptive eye for evil was still working, but he somehow doubted anyone would even remember that when all was said and done. Business as usual in other words.

Impersonating teachers, probably abiding in the kidnappings – Harris was no innocent lamb that was for sure. But the most damaging thing about him was still the fact that he could shapeshift. If his dad released him the suppressant would wear off in no time and they’d have a hard time keeping track of him…

_Wait a minute!!_

Stiles flailed about and did a little fist-pump that almost toppled him off the bed. Derek caught him and the hand steadying him burned trails of sensation in all directions. He shook his head and tried to ignore it.

“I think I have something! It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing at least. So anyway, when Jennifer talked about Parrish and how she’d enhanced the flicker of fae that was in him she mentioned that Harris was the same! She’d done the same to him meaning he’s only at full shapeshifter mode now because Jennifer gave him something to boost his partial ability.”

“Are you saying he’s _roided up_ on shapeshifter juice?” asked the sheriff incredulously. Stiles was bouncing on the bed in excitement.

“Exactly! And we need to wean him off it! I’m guessing Deaton can be of help here. Provided Deaton can strip him down to just plain old evil Harris again, you can let him go and he won’t be able to shift to hide and you can get Parrish to follow him. Maybe he’ll even lead you to Jennifer.”

“It’s not ideal, but better than the alternative. Thanks, son. I really appreciate it. Now, I want you to get your ass out of bed and head home so you won’t be late for school.”

Stiles saluted still giddy from his little revelation. “Will do. Talk later.”

He ended the call, tossed his phone on the nightstand and leaned back folding his hands behind his head feeling very victorious.

“I’m awesome,” he announced happily with a crooked grin. Derek had one of his eyebrows arched. It was clearly conveying that Stiles was an idiot. But the usual glower was gone. Instead the eyebrow was fond. There was no other word for it. Stiles was amazed at good he’d become at deciphering and analyzing the nuances of Derek’s facial expressions.

“Come on, Derek,” he wheedled. “Revel in my awesomeness. Bow down to my superior mind.”

“You’re too cocky for 6 am,” commented Derek in a voice that made Stiles shiver. His eyebrow might be fond, but the tilt of his mouth spoke of much dirtier things.

“You’re also _sticky_.”

He ran his hand down Stiles’ torso, continued to his stomach, circling the navel, edging further south. Stiles forgot to breathe. What was oxygen anyway? He could live without it, right?

Like a Cobra (and just as deadly) Derek entwined their legs. When they were fused together so tightly not even pliers could pull them apart, his hand finally reached its destination. Stiles whimpered helplessly, every last bit of cockiness exchanged for pure undulated arousal.

“You’re _dirty_ ,” he murmured against Stiles’ ear, and then his tongue was licking sloppy trails down his neck. Stiles’ only response was a garble of unintelligent sounds. Derek seemed to understand though, because his hand stroked firmly, slowly, teasingly.

“And _naughty_ ,” he continued his mouth latching on to that sensitive spot right in the grove of his collarbone, sucking, biting. _Marking_.

Stiles came hard and fast in a rain of muttered curses. Derek found his mouth, lips plump and red from biting and kissed him lazily.

“Now you’re even dirtier,” he murmured between kisses. “Positively _filthy_. You can’t go to school like this. Everyone will know what you’ve been up to. Although I like you like this.”

He bit Stiles’ lower lip playfully and he could feel Derek hard against his thigh.

“Yeah?” replied Stiles voice hoarse, eyes half-lidded. “How’s that exactly?”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and an animalistic sound rumbled in the back of his throat. “Debauched,” he whispered sounding positively sultry. “Fucked. _Mine_.”

It was official.

Stiles had found his super power and it was the ability to sport wood no matter how short a time it had been since his last orgasm. Derek didn’t seem to mind at all though. His teeth scraped against his skin and in a haze Stiles found it vaguely amusing that their interactions had moved from threats of Derek ripping his throat out with his teeth to this. The chance of Stiles leaving the loft without a myriad of new hickeys was none existent. Not that he cared one iota.

“This is now a pattern,” gasped Stiles a moment later when Derek once again had picked him up and was carrying him towards the bathroom. “I refuse to be the damsel in this relationship.”

“Refuse all you like,” informed Derek impatiently. “But unless I can get you in the shower within the next minute I’m going to just pin you down against the sink and have my way with you.”

Stiles moaned and bucked against him at the suggestion. Derek’s eyes flashed blue again, and holy hell there was even a bit of fang!

“Next time,” promised Derek. Stiles wasn’t sure he’d live that long.

 

***

 

Stiles had lost track of time. It could’ve been an hour or maybe just five minutes. It didn’t much matter anyway. Derek was doing a marvelous job of cleaning Stiles. He’d washed him with reverence and concentration, not a single spot forgotten or missed. It was the most sensual experience of his life, and also the most torturous.

“Derek,” he begged body boneless, head tilted back against the tiles, water cascading down his body. He opened his eyes and glanced down and the view was breathtaking. He was surely suffering from oxygen-deprivation and brain damage was imminent, because how was he supposed to remember such mundane task as breathing when the perfection that was Derek Hale was on his knees in front of him busy mapping every surface of Stiles’ dick and balls with his lips and tongue.

It was sensory overload and there was only so long he could endure this without shattering.

Derek’s only response was to hum contentedly. Stiles watched in fascination how the water ran down his head, neck, shoulders and formed rivers across the Triskele tattoo that moved, curled and rippled with every movement of his muscles. It was equal parts mesmerizing and hot.

“My turn,” he murmured hands grabbing hold of Derek’s shoulders, guiding him up, up, up. And then they were kissing again. Wet, sloppy, filthy kisses. Stiles weaved his fingers into Derek’s hair, curled and tugged, forcing his head back exposing his throat.

It was Stiles’ turn to mark.

“Jesus Christ,” moaned Derek when he attacked him with vigor, sucking down on that perfect spot just where the neck and shoulder connected. He leaned back to survey his handiwork and felt a deep satisfaction at the purple bruise. Stiles trailed a finger over it as it slowly faded and healed before his very eyes.

“I just need to do it again I guess,” he whispered with a crooked grin. Derek didn’t object, just leaned his head back in invitation.

After watching a fourth hickey bloom and then disappear, Stiles felt it was time to pay homage to the rest of Derek’s glorious body. For some reason he tried to object when Stiles began mapping out a torturously slow trail across his chest.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” demanded Stiles and pushed Derek’s hands away. They found their way into Stiles’ hair and yeah, GOD! He could get used to the feel of those strong fingers alternately kneading, yanking and scraping nails against his scalp; all of which sent lightning bolts of pure pleasure out to every nerve ending; electrifying his senses; setting fire to his insides.

He took his time worshipping the stiff nipples, marveling at the sight of water caressing them, some of it spilling out over the tip like sensual waterfalls. Stiles caught it in his mouth, drank greedily and fed off the curses intermixed with growls raining down from above.

He had already mapped out his trail in his mind, knowing where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. But as someone far more lyrical that Stiles had once said – the important thing wasn’t necessarily the destination, but rather the journey. And he intended to enjoy the scenery; every hill and valley, crevice and nook would be inspected with his usual attention to detail.

Derek whined softly above him as Stiles continued his exploration down his perfect six pack abdomen, taking time to outline every muscle with his tongue while hands mapped out strong thighs, found sensitive areas (behind the knee) before arriving at Derek’s glorious mouthwatering ass.

“Perfection,” murmured Stiles reverently, digging his fingers in, kneading. He nudged Derek gently to turn around and he complied wordlessly. The sight nearly undid him!

“Lean forward,” instructed Stiles firmly, hands roaming feverishly. “Brace yourself against the wall. Yeah, just like that.” He hummed appreciatively, taking the time to give his own cock a couple of lazy strokes.

“Feet further apart.”

Derek complied and holy Christ, Stiles could die a happy man having witnessed this heavenly display.

“What are you doing?” rasped Derek with a hitch. He glanced over his shoulder and Stiles grinned like a cat that just got the canary. Derek’s eyes widened, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.

“Making sure every part of you is clean,” said Stiles feeling his heart beat zealously. He was about to do something he’d never seriously thought he’d get to do, and he didn’t know for sure if Derek would even like it. But no guts no glory, right?

Derek seemed to be catching on as Stiles grabbed hold of both cheeks and firmly pulled them apart exposing the wonderful ring of muscle he’d briefly gotten to know last night. How he longed to get better acquainted!

Derek’s mouth had dropped open, an unintelligible sound spilling from his mouth. Stiles arched an eyebrow questioningly and leaned over kissing one cheek slowly, wetly, biting down gently and swirling his tongue over it with lazy strokes. He moved closer to Derek’s opening and repeated the procedure.

“This okay?” he purred, glancing up at Derek whose only answer was to arch his back and grind his ass further towards Stiles. Stiles took the open invitation gratefully and dived into the crevice, rubbing his face down slowly, inhaling deeply. Derek whined and that was all the encouragement he needed to continue, this time travelling up licking a broad stroke over the tight hole. God! He could probably come like this, just by licking Derek, rimming him.

Derek was muttering nonsense, shoving his ass against Stiles, rutting. He continued to lick, tease, stroke; alternatingly blowing hot air over it. Derek’s babble intensified and emboldened he pressed his tongue against the puckered hole, reveling in the smell, taste and sounds spilling down on him mingled with the water.

“God, Stiles, God,” messed Derek and Stiles grinned proudly. It wasn’t everyday he was compared to deities of any kind.

“Don’t stop,” commanded Derek with a rasp that simultaneously empowered and weakened Stiles. Empowered him to continue pushing, stabbing, licking at Derek’s hole, relaxing the muscle and opening him up. He experimentally added a finger and Derek howled. His ministrations were seriously weakening his ability to hold off his own orgasm.

And judging by the way Derek’s body was trashing, arching and grinding, he was close as well. Fortified Stiles experimentally added a second finger moaning sinfully when it slipped in without problem. He bit down on a cheek, snaked the other hand around to grab hold of Derek’s straining cock. He stroked firmly and pushed the fingers further in, venturing deeper into uncharted territory. Derek was cursing so loudly and creatively the swear jar would be overflowing and then Stiles hit _that_ spot and Derek howled.

“Like that, do you?” crooned Stiles filthily continuing his assault on Derek’s prostate. He answered with a shout and then he was coming, coming, coming. Stiles groaned, threw himself forward to catch the last drops, licking him clean while jacking himself off. A glance up at Derek’s utterly blissed out face was enough to pull him over the edge.

Derek collapsed to the floor and for a long time they just sat there, face to face, water cascading down on them, foreheads touching and hands lazily petting. Stiles had never been happier.

 

***

Eventually they made it back to the bed where they fell asleep, sated and entwined.

Two seconds later (or so it felt) Stiles was once again rudely awoken by a blaring alarm. Half asleep and muttering expletives he patted around and located his phone where he’d tossed it just little over an hour before.

“Fuck school,” he muttered darkly when he realized it was 07.30 am and flopped back down on the pillows already missing Derek’s touch. He was half way back to sleep when something nudged him sharply making him squirm.

“Dude!” he whined with a pout.

“Get to school, Stiles,” mumbled Derek drowsily poking a strong finger into his side making Stiles squeak unmanly. “I don’t want your dad on my doorstep armed with Wolfsbane bullets.”

“But it’s too frigging early. And you haven’t even made me breakfast.”

“You’ve already eaten me out,” deadpanned Derek and even though he couldn’t see his face Stiles just knew he was grinning evilly.

“Oh my god, your jokes are bad _and_ crude.”

“Deal with it,” was the cheeky reply and Stiles laughed giddily.

“Oh I can deal alright, grumpy.”

He climbed on top of Derek and grinned down on him. His only reply was a blank face and two eyebrows almost knit together. Stiles smiled when he recognized them as the fond brows. _His brows._

“You’re busted mister. Your face might be grumpy but your eyebrows betray you. They’re telling me you don’t want me to leave.”

“You’re weird,” said Derek flatly. “And you’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on. The car keys are on the table downstairs.”

Stiles responded by kissing him silly. It almost escalated into round three, but from somewhere deep within he managed to muster up the needed willpower to extract himself from the bed and Derek’s addictive touch.

The last thing he saw before he shut the bedroom door behind him was Derek smiling happily at him before he rolled around and disappeared in a heap of pillows and blankets.

 

*

Stiles whistled happily as he hobbled down the winding staircase, crutches under one arm and phone in the other. His knee was much better thankfully but he didn’t dare leave the crutches or his dad would probably lock him in his room indefinitely.

He was just finishing up a text to Scott when someone suddenly materialized ninja-like from the shadows of the dimly lit room.

“OH MY GOD! Peter, you fucking creeper!”

The crutches spilled to the floor and Stiles glared murderously at the werewolf before him. Peter for his part looked as unfazed as ever. In fact he was leaning nonchalantly against one of the pillars, sassily inspecting his nails. No scratch that – _claws_.

What the hell?

“Doing the walk of shame?” he asked silkily, an eyebrow curved heavenward. Stiles silently marveled at how different the eyebrow game of uncle and nephew were and how a patch of body hair could be so utterly spine-chilling.

“Hah fucking hah,” said Stiles icily. “Not exactly. And I actually saw Derek bolt the door from the inside last night. How did you get in here anyway?”

Peter smirked. Stiles felt nauseous.

“A good wolf doesn’t tell his little secrets,” was Peter’s cryptic reply.

“A good wolf does not break into other people’s homes,” retorted Stiles impatiently. His phone peeped signaling a reply from Scott. He'd read respond as soon as he'd dodged this idiot. 

“Anyway, I’m late for school. It was unpleasant and disturbing to see you as always. Have a terrible day.” He saluted mockingly and grabbed his keys.

Peter stopped him with a clawed hand to his chest.

“Not so fast, lover boy.” He licked his lips and inhaled deeply. Stiles shuddered. “I heard whispers that Jennifer Blake was back in town, and I was wondering if you could be a dear and update me on the situation. I’m dying to assist, of course.”

Stiles barked out a laugh accompanied by much rolling of the eyes.

“Sure you do. Peter the Helpful they call you. As if. I’m actually pissed at you, to tell the truth. You never do anything useful. If you’re not busy committing homicidal killing sprees, then you’re just lurking in the shadows sprouting horrible oneliners and offering advice no one wants. And the one time when you had the chance to actually do something for the greater good – like killing Jennifer, then you do a sloppy hack job of it and surprise surprise, the bitch is back a couple of months later, bag filled with new and even more nefarious tricks. So excuse me when I tell you in the plainest way possible that _NO_ , I will not share information with you – _about_ _anything_.”

He ended the tirade with an icy glower and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out. Sadly Peter looked as unruffled as always, mouth set in a condescending tilt.

“Fair enough,” he sighed and leaned forward inhaling deeply. His eyes flashed blue for a brief second and it had the complete opposite effect than Derek making Stiles wish he had his bat handy. He did however have the crutches and was certainly not afraid to use them.

“If you’re done trying to weasel information out of me, I suggest you step out of my way and slink back to the underground network of caves I’m sure you inhabit, curl up and die – _again_. I on the other hand am late for school.”

He took a deliberate step to the side planning on giving Peter as wide a berth as possible when he once again stopped him with a hand to the chest. This time sans claws, but still not appreciated.

“Do you need a ride?” Peter asked slickly topped off by a gut-churning wink.

“Not if my life depended on it, pedo-wolf,” replied Stiles, crutch at the ready.

A deep rumbling roar rolled down the stairs and hit them like a tidal wave. Stiles' heart soared.

“ _PETER_! Get the fuck out of my loft!”

Derek all but jumped down the staircase wearing only boxers and adorably ruffled bed hair. It was enough to get Stiles’ mind rolling down a dangerous path littered only with thoughts firmly tagged ‘not safe for work’.

Peter threw his hands out in mock-surrender, turned on his heel and sauntered towards the door. “No need to get worked up, dear nephew. All you had to do was ask nicely. I only came to offer my services after all.”

“Goodbye, Peter,” said Derek stonily, face blank.

“ _Go die_ , _Peter_ ,” added Stiles.

It might be a trick of the light but it looked like Derek was suppressing a snort.

As soon as Peter had disappeared through the door, Derek gestured for Stiles to wait.

“Give me 20 seconds to get some clothes; I’m driving you to school.”

“That’s okay, my head feels fine today,” protested Stiles weakly. The prospect of a few more minutes with Derek was actually very welcome.

“I don’t care, I’m still driving you. I don’t trust Peter not to follow you. He’s twisted like that, seems to like making people uncomfortable. I have no idea where he gets it.”

“ _Honestly_?” Stiles stared at Derek incredulously. “No idea? I seem to remember a certain stalker wolf hanging around the lacrosse field, cropping up uninvited in boys’ bedrooms, lurking in shadows –“

“Smartypants,” Derek threw playfully over his shoulder as he sped up the stairs.

“Whatever, just get your _pants_ on, _smarty_. The clock is ticking.”

The sound of Derek guffaws trailing down from above warmed Stiles through and through.

 

*

“Hey! Give me the keys, fucker.”

Stiles flailed trying to catch hold of the keys currently dangling teasingly between Derek’s fingers. He held it high above his head, grinning wickedly at his pathetic attempts at catching them. Jumping was hard with crutches and he’d taken to more sneaky methods like finding out if Derek was ticklish.

He was.

“I’m driving, dude,” whined Stiles when not even his offensive tickle-attack helped. “It’s my car, my rules buddy.”

“That car is a deathtrap.”

Stiles whirled around and stopped Derek with the point of one crutch, face set in disapproving folds.

“Roscoe is no such thing. Sure it might need a new carburetor – “

“Among other things,” mumbled Derek. Stiles glowered.

“- but it’s reliable and has gotten me – _and you_ might I add – out of too many scrapes to be dismissed and dissed like this. And besides, it belonged to my mom…”

He trailed off, cheeks reddening. He never told anyone that. Aside from his dad, the only person who knew was Scott, and they never talked about it. It was just one of those things forever left unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” said Derek sounding somber. He handed the keys over wordlessly, clasping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder in silent comfort. An image of Derek on his knees in front of Boyd’s lifeless body flashed before him, clutching at his heart.

“Thanks,” he mumbled suddenly feeling slightly awkward. Of course he had to go and ruin a perfectly good morning with references to dead family members.

“You never talk about her.”

Stiles froze, but didn’t dare turn around. He just continued walking with a little shrug.

“I get it,” said Derek quietly, hand still on his shoulder, gently pulling him towards him until it was snaked around him, Stiles perfectly fitted against him. “It probably still hurts, and most likely it always will. But if you ever want to talk about it, you know, with someone who knows what it’s like, you know where I live.”

Stiles didn’t trust his voice and only nodded jerkily. It was enough for now. And one day he might take Derek up on his offer. It might be therapeutic – for both of them.

When they approached the car they saw someone leaning nonchalantly against the hood, head bowed down.

“I swear to god,” muttered Derek darkly. “When I told him to get out, I didn’t mean it would be okay to lurk outside instead.”

But it wasn’t Peter.

“Isaac?”

It was indeed Isaac, scarf and all, curled against the car staring down at whatever it was he was cradling in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles felt panic building rapidly. Was something wrong? Had anything happened to Scott? Or perhaps another murder?

Isaac slowly raised his head and turned towards them, inhaling deeply and scrunching his nose with a grimace. Stiles cursed mentally. He clearly needed to take yet another shower before going to school if he wanted to avoid the werewolves pulling faces like this all day. Not to mention the third degrees.

“I know, I know. We reek, I get it. No need to crack jokes. But seriously, what are you doing here? And I’ve sort of gotten used to the scarfs, dude but it’s nowhere near cold enough for gloves.”

When Isaac failed to retort sarcastically Stiles knew with certainty that nothing was okay. But by then it was too late. Isaac turned towards Derek, lifted his gloved hand, and opened it to reveal a small pile of finely grained blue dust. Derek’s eyes widened comically and then he was engulfed in a cloud of powdered wolfsbane and promptly collapsed to the ground.

“ISAAC, _what the hell?_ ”

Stiles’ next thought was to whack him over the head with a crutch, but then something connected with the back of his head and the world started fading fast. He fell to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs.

The sound of heels fast approaching echoed through his pounding head, and then the shapely legs of Jennifer Blake strode into view. She kneeled down, peered at him with head cocked to the side, mouth set in a blinding smile.

“Hi there. So glad our paths have crossed again.”

“Fuck off,” slurred Stiles venomously.

“Sorry, not going to do that, honey.” She rose again and Stiles followed her movement as she approached Isaac who stood surveying the situation with a dopey look on his face. It morphed into pure adoration as Jennifer reached him, patting him gently on the chin.

“Thank you, pet,” she crooned smoothly and Isaac preened like a well-trained show dog.

“You did good. But our friend over there is still conscious. Perhaps you could assist him into a slight slumber?”

Isaac nodded and smiled goofily. Stiles felt like retching when Jennifer straightened up on the tip of her toes and kissed him. Spots danced before his eyes, and before Isaac could do anything else the world drowned out into a whirl of distorted images, before it all plunged into nothingness.

-      ________________________________  

Pssst.... I'm on [tumblr](http://www.darachmoon.tumblr.com), come say hi :)


	14. The believer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where shit goes down in the Preserve and everything is tied up in a not so pretty bow with a sprinkle of Stilinski Feels on top.

Stiles recognized where he was the moment he blinked awake. His head was pounding in an excruciating way he’d up until a few months ago had only associated with extreme hangovers, but now knew meant he was in all likelihood in deep shit. Deep _deadly_ shit.

Something sticky was running down his face, partially covering an eyelid and he struggled to get it all the way open. _Blood_ he realized and tried to dry it off but his effort was fruitless. He was tied up. Securely. He wasn’t even surprised.

Stiles groaned and tried to roll over on his side. His fingers brushed the coarse surface of wood, finding the tree rings effortlessly, comfortingly. But the rings could little do about his situation and sadly this time it was no dream. If possible this was shaping out to be worse than even his most terrifying nightmares.

“Derek!” he called out desperately. His last memory was of Isaac blowing wolfsbane in his face and then collapsing to the ground. Surely Jennifer had brought him here as well. His eyes darted around frantically and yes – there he was!

He was still unconscious, face unnaturally pale but Stiles could see his chest rising and falling, and that calmed him somewhat. Still alive.

He trashed around a bit more, trying and failing to loosen the ties around his arms and legs. The rope felt thick, sturdy and even if he somehow could get hold of a knife or a sharp stone it would probably take him roughly sixteen years to cut through them. Stiles had bailed out of Boy Scout meetings as a kid after a memorable session where he'd almost set the Preserve ablaze. Later he’d learned his parents had been “ _advised”_ to let him pursue other activities. This was good for the Preserve at large, but a major drawback for Stiles in his current predicament.

“I could really use one of your razor sharp claws right about now,” muttered Stiles in the general direction of Derek’s limp body. No response. 

“Come on, Derek! Wake the fuck up!”

“Save your voice, honey. He’s not waking up anytime soon.”

Stiles whirled his head around and almost gave himself a severe case of whiplash. He’d temporarily forgotten his body couldn’t follow through on the movement. He groaned half in frustration half in pain.

Jennifer slinked into view chuckling in a low voice, almost like a malevolent tiger. _Prowling_. That was what she was doing. Encircling her pray, trapping it, ready to pounce. Stiles did not enjoy the part of victim.

“We meet again,” she purred smoothly, lips curled in a crooked grin. Something undefined and dangerous boiled inside Stiles making his vision blur red. Or perhaps that was just the blood that he could still feel running down his chin.

“Fancy that,” he spat sarcastically. “Ten points for efficiency. Zero for creativity. You do realize this will be the first place they look, right? A smart villain breaks the pattern you know, just FYI.”

Jennifer shrugged and continued to saunter lazily towards him, a garrote dangling carelessly between her long fingers.

“You’re right. Clever boy, aren't you? But it can’t be helped really seeing as the Nemeton is crucial to my plans. I guess I just have to be quick about it.”

She twirled around and a ray of sunshine trickling into the woods hit a sizable knife dangling from her belt. Stiles gulped audibly. As if the garrote wasn’t bad enough.

_Strangled. Throat sliced. Head bashed in._

It looked like he was in for a threefold death. Why was he even surprised? And whoever kept insisting that all good things come by in threes certainly hadn’t visited Beacon Hills lately.

He followed Jennifer movements with his eyes and startled somewhat when he laid eyes on Isaac. He honestly hadn’t noticed him until now. The beta was standing half in the shadows, back stiff, eyes glazed staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face.

“What did you do to him?”

Stiles prayed Jennifer possessed at least a sliver of the villains’ usual propensity for tooting their own horns and waxing poetic about their evil ways. Every minute counted – if he didn’t show up for school and the same went for Isaac, then Scott and the others would surely realize something was amiss.

Jennifer didn’t disappoint. In fact she looked positively delighted.

“Ah, the lovely Isaac. I must say that was an unexpected turn of events,” she admitted casually. She stopped in front of Isaac and petted him gently on his chest. He simpered goofily. Stiles quelled the urge to cringe.

Jennifer threw a look over her shoulder, eyes flashing dangerously.

“You took away my minion and turnaround is fair – so I just replaced Harris with one of yours.”

“Isaac is not my minion,” snarled Stiles with another useless attempt at slackening the ropes. All he got for his trouble was his previous wounds reopening. It singed like a motherfucker.

“No, I guess he’s not. But he’s pack. Beta, minion –same difference really. He’s expendable and I needed a new foot soldier.”

“That’s crazy! Isaac’s not just a fucking foot soldier. He’s a person. A _friend_.”

Jennifer nodded, expression mocking. She looked especially deranged wearing the same white lacey dress Allison sometimes donned and her hair styled in a similar fashion. All she lacked was a bow and they could be sisters.

“Of course he’s a person, silly. A very susceptible person in fact; easily swayed by my charms.”

She turned slowly and crossed her arms. She regarded Stiles silently for a moment before she continued what he hoped would be a longwinded monologue.

“The virgin sacrifices gave me power of seduction as you well know. I told you about that already, didn’t I?” She cocked her head to the side, one hand on her chin faking a pensive look.

“Yes I definitely did. I used that on Derek to get him under my influence. I even spent time mimicking you and your little encounters seeing as he seemed to prefer your company to most others. And it worked too – he fell under my spell but then you went and broke it that time at the loft after I kidnapped your dad, and my plan crumbled after that. Thankfully I still have some juice left after the sacrifices and I used it on poor lovesick Isaac here.”

She regarded him condescendingly and although Stiles would be the first to admit Isaac was not his favorite person in the world, he’d grown on him lately and was probably bubbling right outside top 10. He did not appreciate Jennifer mocking him like this. Isaac had even lent him his admittedly itchy scarf for Christ sake! Definitely friend material and not someone Stiles wanted hurt or used like this.

Jennifer for her part was clearly in the zone and continued regaling Stiles with her exploits.

“Harris had reported back to me that young Lahey here seemed to have a bit of a crush on Allison Argent, and I must admit I make a dashing archer lookalike if I say so myself.”

“You’re nothing like Allison,” said Stiles venomously. He chanced a glance in Derek’s direction but he was still down for the count.

“I’m enough for the seduction powers to work,” countered Jennifer smugly. “And,” she added with a nonchalant wave, “I might have given Isaac a slight dose of minced mistletoe mixed with a couple of other potent ingredients as well, to enhance the effect. It’s my specialty after all – _enhancements_.”

“Congratulations,” deadpanned Stiles through clenched teeth. “I hope to _enhance_ your punishment when this is all over.”

Jennifer guffawed, twirling the garrote seductively. “When this is all over, all that will be _enhanced_ is _my power_ and _your grief_. The grief part is provided I don’t kill you off course,” she added off-handedly.

Stiles smiled stiffly. “Of course. And now what? What’s the grand plan? You’re going to kill us – let me guess – threefold death?”

“You’re cute when you’re angry. I can see why he likes you. But in a nutshell I need to sever the guardians’ bond to the Nemeton. As long as that exists I can’t claim its power fully. I can tap into it, siphon parts of it, but that has its limits, so – yes a little death might be inevitable. Because I don’t care for limits. _I want it all_!”

“So you're a little bit greedy, are you?” Stiles arched an eyebrow going for aloof. “It fits nicely into your little crusade of deadly sins. You’ve already got wrath, pride and envy down pat. Lust goes hand in hand with greed I’d say. Kudos, you’re well on your way to a full set of sins.”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, her demeanor changing from cocky to irate.

“Don’t test me,” she sneered. “I may look like an innocent flower but mark my words I’m a serpent underneath and right now your mouth is spouting words your body can’t keep up with. You’re just a human, Stiles. You’re no match for me even if you’re as clever as you seem to think you are. You can’t _outwit_ your way out of those ropes, so I’d start eating a bit of humble pie if I were you. It might save your life.”

She was hovering above him, breath tickling his face as she spoke. Her eyes gleamed whitish for a moment, and once again the wave inside him shifted and grew. Stiles did his best to hide his fears behind a thick layer of bravado.

“I don’t care much for pie, to be honest,” he said with a shrug. “Particularly not the humble kind. I’m more of a cupcake guy myself. And I seem to remember you telling me I was a guardian too. So does that mean I have to die? You’re being very contradictory right now, it’s confusing me.”

He didn’t see it coming. The slap echoed through the early-morning silence like a gunshot. Stiles’ cheek burned where her hand had struck. Jennifer was panting heavily as she took a step back.

“Your chances of survival are dwindling by the second,” she wheezed with a sneer. Stiles wisely didn’t say another word, fighting back tears of pain. Jennifer had one heck of a right hook.

“I was considering sparing you if possible. I’m not totally heartless and I can sense that there’s more to you than meets the eye. Kind of like with me. We could be kindred spirits in fact, but not in your current frame of mind. But with time, you might come around. A little bit of power goes a long way and right now you have very little I think.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” hissed Stiles bitterly. Jennifer shrugged, twirling the garrote.

“That wasn’t a flat out no. As long as there is doubt there is hope. Your friend Derek is a lost cause I’m afraid. He’s the original guardian, a role he inherited from his mother, Talia. There is no other way of severing that kind of guardianship other than by death. Yours is forged by will and sacrifice and not as strong. But it’s strong enough that I can’t risk it out there out of my control.”

“What about Scott and Allison?” asked Stiles weakly. He was beginning to feel the effects of the blood loss, but fought to stay awake. “They went into those ice baths with me.”

Jennifer shrugged unconcerned. “They did, and they’re linked to it as well. But their bond are not even a tenth of what you created that night. Even if they combine their links I will have no problem squashing it. Without you and Derek they’re no threat to me.”

She glanced heavenward, muttered something that Stiles couldn’t make out and then strode purposefully towards the Nemeton. Helplessly Stiles could little do but scream and protest when Jennifer bent down, braced a knee against the tree trunk and curled the garrote around his neck.

“Any last words?” she asked silkily. “I’ve decided you’re more trouble than your worth.”

“Fuck off!”

Jennifer tittered. “Eloquent and to the point. I admire that. Now say goodbye to your life, Stiles.”

The garrote tightened around his neck and Stiles was powerless to fight it. Tied down all he could do was thrash around as panic engulfed him. The pressure against his esophagus increased and it felt like his face was exploding. Stiles tried to scream but it was futile. A deflated light-headed feeling was gradually taking over.

A loud howl followed by a growl reverberated throughout the Preserve momentarily halting Jennifer in her task and the pressure eased up allowing him to draw quick and shallow breaths. If he’d been able he would’ve laughed in relief when he noticed Derek was awake, shifted and ready to pounce.

“Say goodbye to loverboy,” jeered Jennifer and then the pressure returned full force. Derek roared again and leapt at her claws out – and promptly hit an invisible wall and fell to the mossy floor with a yelp.

“Mountain ash,” informed Jennifer mockingly as she twisted the garrote around once more. Spots danced before Stiles’ eyes. “Wait your turn, dear.”

“ **STOP**!”

‘ _Yes’_ thought Stiles weakly feeling his mind slowly coming back online as Jennifer let go of the garrote and whirled around. _'The cavalry is here.'_

But it wasn’t Scott and company that emerged in the clearing as he’d expected.

It was Peter.

“What are you doing?” hissed Jennifer, eyes flashing white again. Peter emerged from the shadows with the grace and deadliness of a Bengal tiger. His face was shifted into a more grotesque version of the beta shift and his claws were out and ready. His eyes flashed blue. Icy blue.

“Step away,” he snarled. “I didn’t spare your life, strike a deal with you only to have you break it like it was nothing. That will have consequences.”

For a few moments all they did was stare at each other – like a morphed sort of villain-stare-off. It provided the time needed for Stiles to get his breath back and clear his mind. And he’d need his wits about him because _HOLY HELL_ – he’d not seen this twist coming.

Neither had Derek it seemed.

“Peter? What’s going on?” He clawed at the invisible barrier and cursed loudly when all it did was send waves of shock through his body, forcing him to take a step back. “Why are you doing this?”

Stiles’ heart bled for him. Although Derek’s face wasn’t portraying any signs of it he could hear the slight hitch in his voice. Peter might be a totally shit and no one really cared much for him, but to Derek he was still family. And when you don’t have much of a thing, you tended to hold on to it as hard as you can no matter what a ginormous bag of dicks it might be. Stiles could relate.

Without breaking eye contact Peter gestured apologetically in Derek’s general direction.

“I’m sorry, nephew. I never wanted it to come to this. The turn of events has been unfortunate but my objective remains the same – I want what is mine! I want to be alpha. _I’ve always been the alpha!”_

Derek’s eyes bugged out and he stepped back as if slapped. Stiles’ instinct was to go to him; to comfort.

“You…” he took a deep breath, seemed to steel himself and then tried again. “Peter, you took the alpha spark by force once before. It didn’t end well. It ended in killing sprees and the biting of teenagers that didn’t ask for it. Some people are not meant to be alphas. I wasn’t. And neither are you.”

Peter whipped his head around with a low growl, teeth flashing. He looked deranged. It made Jennifer look like a docile and harmless pet by comparison.

“It should’ve been mine from the start. But I made one foolish little mistake as a young boy and father saw it fit to let the torch pass to Talia instead. She was never strong enough, never willing to make the tough choices, to stand firm against others. All she did was talk and try to reason. Well, there’re some people in the world incapable of seeing reason, and they need to be dealt with accordingly. The price we paid – we all paid – were too high. So many dead because of her weak leadership. And the rest of us left broken and damaged behind.”

“Don’t you ever talk about my mother like that!”

Derek was seething. Peter barked out a laugh making Stiles momentarily think of the crazy hyenas in The Lion King.

“I only speak the truth, Derek. You were too young to see what a poor excuse of a leader she was. But believe me; we would’ve been better off with me at the helm. The Hales need to rebuild their legacy, and I’m the only one who can do that – by claiming what is rightfully mine.”

“Why now?” Stiles had found his voice again, and for the first time since he’d interrupted Jennifer’s ritual Peter turned his attention to him.

“Why not when Derek was alpha? I don’t see how working with Jennifer can help you become alpha.”

“Ah, Stiles.” He sauntered towards him, ignoring Jennifer’s protestations. “You’ve always been my favorite, did you know that? Sharp as a whip, brave as a fool.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. He was beaten, bloody and tied up and not in the mood for Peter’s creepy fascination with him.

“Spare me,” he spat. “You’ve been lurking around the pack for months bemoaning your lack of strength and “ _how you’re not up to fighting speed yet_ ”. You’ve had ample opportunity, so why wait - … ”

He trailed off, brain kicking into high gear, eyes widening in realization. Peter slow clapped mockingly.

“This is why he’s my favorite,” he informed a petulant looking Jennifer. “I think he’s figured it out.”

He turned back, eyebrows arched. Stiles’ mouth was set in a grim line, and he silently cursed the demeaning position he was in, lying like a limp piece of meat on top of an old tree trunk. Peter deserved to be kicked in the chin, preferably by someone wearing barbed cement boots.

“Cora… You fucking bastard! You poisoned Cora didn’t you? You gave her mistletoe, poisoning your own niece and left her at death’s door.”

Peter merely shrugged casually and pretended to inspect his claws, a very smug smile playing on his lips. Derek slumped to the floor, shock oozing off him, mouth moving soundlessly.

Something coiled deep within Stiles, something dangerous and toxic. “Your own niece,” he snarled spit spraying. “Again! Who does that?”

“Someone pragmatic and with a vision for the future. Cora had spirit, fire. I saw some of my own strength in her, and believe I can mold her to my liking. And of course I knew Derek, the fool, would never let her die. He’d rather sacrifice himself and do whatever it took to save her. And he did.”

“You fucking moron,” yelled Stiles, feeling tears of anger running down his face mixing with the blood. “She nearly died – did you know that?”

He barked out a laugh when Peter paused in surprise.

“Didn’t think so. You scheme and plot but you fail awfully often, I must say. _I saved Cora in the ambulance_. Her heart stopped and I spent some of the worst minutes of my life desperately performing CPR. If it wasn’t for me, Cora would be dead right now!”

Derek had scrambled to his feet, still standing awkwardly and helplessly inside the ring of ash. He was staring at Stiles with an awed expression that under any other circumstances would make Stiles’ breath hitch.

“I didn’t know that,” he whispered, voice filled with emotion. Stiles shrugged. What more was there to say really?

“No matter, it all turned out okay in the end,” concluded Peter with a sweeping gesture.

“OKAY??” Derek roared so loudly the nearby trees rustled. Stiles felt chills run down his spine.

“Nearly killing your own family is okay? You’re worse than I thought.”

“Thank you for your evaluation, I’ll take it under advisement. I had planned on snatching up the alpha spark as soon as you began the process of draining yourself dry to save your sister. But I hadn’t counted on another confluence of events happening across town at a rundown distillery.”

“Oh here we go again,” muttered Jennifer darkly. “For the last time – I did not know a) what you were planning and b) that Scott had the potential to become a True Alpha. Jesus. You’re like a broken record.”

Peter threw his clawed hands up in mock surrender and bowed deeply in her direction.

“Bygones, my lady. Let’s focus on the events of the day. The spark I want was soaked up by an unknown sponge named Scott McCall, and he might be a tool but he’ll come running once he knows his best friend is in trouble. I know for a fact that Stiles never returned the latest text he sent, so it’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll somersault into the clearing, pack in tow. And then we’ll both get what we want.”

Jennifer looked less than happy, but nodded stiffly. “Don’t go anywhere,” she threw over her shoulder at Stiles as she stalked over to a nearby tree, leaning against it arms crossed.

“Such a comedian,” Stiles muttered. He dearly hoped Scott would be sensible enough to not just barge in teeth flashing. That he'd take the time to form a plan, perhaps even get his dad and Parrish involved…

Who was he kidding? Scott was never the one with the plans.

He glanced towards Derek who was standing half hunched, claws ready in attack mode but nowhere to go. Their eyes met and Stiles was blown away by the emotions cascading through him. They didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say; nothing to do but wait and hope by some miracle that their friends could help. This might be the last moment they had on this earth, and whacked as it might be, Stiles was eternally grateful that he wasn’t here alone, even if he’d wished nothing more than for Derek to be safe and out of harm’s way. It was contradictory and stupid, and yet Stiles didn’t know what else to do but try and convey everything he felt through his eyes.

The connection was suddenly and rudely blocked – _literally_ – by Peter. He stepped between them, a sour expression clouding his beta-shaped face.

“This really is a sickening display.” He glared from Derek to Stiles and back again, tutting disapprovingly. “What do you hope to accomplish? That _love_ will save the day? Please!”

He laughed harshly with a head shake. “Oh my, I just remembered a conversation we had some time ago, Derek. Didn’t I sprout some nonsense about _the power of human love_?” He tittered to himself. Derek didn’t answer.

“You do realize I was just saying what you wanted to hear, right? Even back then I was moving the pieces into place, getting ready to claim my place as alpha, and you fell for it hook, line and sinker. And now look at you, standing trapped and helpless, eye-fucking your little boyfriend while the world crumples around you. _Pathetic_.”

He spat the last word with such venom spit sprayed in all directions.

“What would you have me do, uncle?” asked Derek resigned. “Throw myself at the mountain ash? – I know it won’t budge. I can howl, but I’m scared to draw the pack here to what looks like certain death. My options are limited.”

“You witless fool,” hissed Peter. “You still have the power to _change_ \- to adapt, to align yourself with me and my cause. Together we can build a strong and powerful pack again. But all you’ve done since I came back is distrust, ignore and berate me. You’ve played your cards poorly. But there is still time.”

Derek just glared at him, conveying his answer wordlessly and effectively. Peter sighed deeply.

“You were always a foolish boy, filled with romantic notions, grand gestures and moral high grounds. The world does not reward that kind of people. It’s survival of the fittest – always was, always will be.”

“What I don’t understand,” interrupted Stiles having had quite enough of Peter’s trash talk, “is how on earth you justify working with Jennifer. Don’t you know her endgame is to rid the world of werewolves? That doesn’t really resonate with your “ _survival of the fittest_ ” spiel, now does it? Wouldn’t that make her “ _fitter_ ” than you?”

Peter turned to Stiles, a cruel curl to his lips, eyes flashing blue. Stiles didn’t stop there.

“And another thing“. He turned towards Jennifer – “You want to kill Derek and break the guardianship to the Nemeton, a bond I’ve gathered runs in the Hale family. Won’t that just transfer then, like the alpha spark, to someone else? Like Peter or Cora?”

“Give it up, Stiles,” said Peter smugly. “Pitting us against each other won’t work. There are ways of securing yourself against your enemies, especially when a deal is formed that involves a threat to one’s life. Jennifer had a choice – die at my claws or strike a blood deal. She chose the latter.”

Derek groaned miserably shaking his head. Jennifer’s lips were clenched tightly, but she didn’t say anything, just scowled murderously at Peter. One didn’t need even a sliver of divination skills to gather that she was less than pleased by the arrangement. Stiles for his part was clearly missing something.

“What the hell is a blood deal? That sounds vaguely ominous.”

“It is, - in fact there’s nothing vaguely about it,” said Derek resignedly. “Basically it’s a deal infused with magic, a promise made and sealed by mixing the blood between the partners involved under a full moon. You swear to uphold the deal and if you don’t the blood in your body turns to poison and kills you.”

Stiles’ head was spinning.

“So basically it’s like an _Unbreakable Vow_!?!”

Derek stared at him blankly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Stiles spluttered. “Seriously? _Harry Potter?_ No?”

He shook his head despairingly (or as much as he could shake it in his current position). “I’m surrounded by uneducated people. Who hasn’t read Harry Potter? That is almost as bad as Scott not having seen Star Wars. I’m basically surrounded by pop-cultural imbeciles!”

“I haven’t seen Star Wars either,” admitted Derek with a shrug. Stiles balked.

“I’ve seen it,” offered Jennifer smarmily. Stiles threw her a glare more dangerous than any light saber.

“Don’t care, missy. And now I’m seriously considering whether JK Rowling is purely human. I’m having doubts. But -”

He paused again, this time puzzle pieces slotting together to form a very disturbing picture. Holy crap! Peter wasn’t just deranged and a gigantic dick – he was also incredibly smart in an evil-dictator-who-wants-to-rule-the-world kind of way.

“She gets the Nemeton powers and you get to be the only alpha ruling over the sole remaining werewolf pack after she’s done with her vendetta. Christ, you’ll give the _dick_ in dictator a whole new meaning!”

Peter opened his mouth but whatever he was supposed to say was forever drowned out in a blood-curling scream. It echoed through the Preserve, bored into Stiles’ bones, infused his very core and threatened to blow out his ear drums. And just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

“Lydia,” he whispered faintly. Derek was still covering his ears and Jennifer looked visibly ruffled. Peter however leered, took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if scenting the air.

“Finally. The cavalry is here. And if the banshee screams, it must mean someone's dying. May the odds be ever in my favor.” 

Stiles had a split second to marvel at the Hunger Game reference before, fittingly, an arrow whistled through the air missing Jennifer’s head by an inch. It bore into the trunk of the tree she was leaning against, vibrating dangerously by the impact. She immediately jumped out of the way, the knife from her belt now in her hand, gleaming almost as fervently as her mad eyes. .

True to Peter’s prediction Scott somersaulted into the clearing in a spray of dust and growls. He landed with a thud, fangs out claws at the ready. Stiles had never seen him looking this angry and it scared him on a level he never thought he’d access.

“LET THEM GO!” he snarled.

Scott’s voice rumbled through the forest. Allison stepped in from the tree line, bow at the ready. She startled somewhat when she noticed Isaac standing passively to the side, but didn’t comment. Instead she continued advancing.

Jennifer only hesitated for a moment before she bounded towards Stiles, yanking him up from his awkward position, knife to his throat. It was sharp. Stiles gulped and felt the edge penetrate his skin. The tangy smell of blood hit his nose and to his right Derek growled murderously.

Peter just stared at the tableau before him, arms clasped behind his back, like he was simply surveying some rowdy kids roughhousing and not in fact hosting a ritual sacrifice. He moved languidly towards Jennifer, stopped next to her and placed a hand possessively on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing tightly. He could feel the claws boring down, slicing through the t-shirt and almost breaking skin.

“My apologies, Scott,” he said pleasantly, tipping his head to the side. “Unfortunately I can’t accommodate your demand of release. You see, they’re both intricate to my plans. I do however have a counter offer.”

“Not interested,” snapped Scott and Allison stepped closer. “Allison can put an arrow in your head unless you do as you’re told. Or I’ll rip you to shreds. I’m an alpha now!”

Peter laughed and shook his head like he was listening to a petulant child.

“Scott, my boy. You might be an alpha, but you have yet to embrace it. Your strength is nothing against mine because you lack the will to kill. And Allison’s arrows will do little damage I’m afraid. Jennifer has seen to that with a little bit of druid magic.”

Allison chanced another glance at Isaac and when he just stared back blankly a resolve seemed to settle in her. Next she drew her bow and another arrow whipped through the air heading straight for Peter.

Stiles braised for an impact that never came. The arrow hit an invisible field in the air, and exploded into a smattering of fine metallic dust that rained down beside the Nemeton, sending merry little bursts of light in all directions, like a momentary disco ball.

Scott howled angrily as Peter dusted of invisible pieces of lint from his plunging V-neck.

“See?” he asked smoothly. “I’m impenetrable; I have my own _force field_ if you will for those present who seem to revel in Star Wars parallels. And Jennifer has Stiles – one false move and that knife will slice him open like a piece of fruit. I’m thinking pomegranate.”

“ARGH!”

Scott growled and then visibly deflated, shoulders hunching. “On that note,” he said miserably. “ _LYDIA_! You should hold off on the fire grenades or whatever you call them.”

A loud rustling could be heard and then Lydia stalked angrily into view a sizable bottle in one hand and a lighter in the other.

“It’s called a Molotov cocktail,” she replied snootily. “And I actually have eyes and ears and knew things were going to shits. I wouldn’t throw this in here unless I was sure to hit my target.”

“Sorry,” muttered Scott apologetically. “I was just making sure. Anyway – what do you want, Peter?”

Peter beamed. “Ah, the million dollar question of the day. It’s quite simple actually – _I want your alpha power_.”

“That’s it?” Scott looked bewildered. “It’s not like I’m overly fond of it to be honest. I’d gladly give it up to save my friends if I thought it wouldn’t kill me or my friends in the process, and if I knew it went to someone who would use it wisely. No offence but you kind of fail on both accounts.”  
  
Peter simply shrugged. “No offence taken, but it doesn’t really change my demand – because make no mistake, this is not a request. Give me your power willingly and I’ll make sure Jennifer spares Stiles’ life. She will have to break his bond to the Nemeton of course, and it will be excruciatingly painful, but he’ll live. Derek on the other hand you’ll have to say goodbye to.”

“You’re insane!” Allison looked aghast. Scott was just gawping.

“I prefer the term _visionary_ , but to each their own I suppose.”

Peter dug his claw deeper into Stiles’ shoulder making him cry out in pain. It punctured the skin and he could feel it boring into flesh, touching nerves, blood oozing. Derek threw himself against the mountain ash barrier again only to be ricocheted off with a whimper. Jennifer pushed the edge of the knife further up under Stiles’ chin so he could feel it against the bone.

“You can’t kill Derek! He’s your family,” cried Scott desperately. Lydia had migrated towards Isaac, trying to get his attention. He was still just standing there impassively, like a robot waiting to be activated.

“I can, and I will. It’s unfortunate, but his death will serve a higher purpose. And when I’m alpha again you are free to join me in my pack. After all you were my beta first, Scott.”

“Never!” hissed Scott looking positively green at the prospect. Peter pouted.

“Pity. But I’ll get over it. I still have Isaac over there after all, and I will sway Cora to my side. But enough dillydallying, it’s time to make your choice, Scott. I will become alpha no matter what – it’s up to you how. Do you want to live and save your best friend in the process? If so you need to come willingly. If not, I will have Jennifer continue her little strangling game and end poor Stiles’ days right here. In that case I will have no choice but to kill you as well.”

“Scott,” said Allison in warning, reaching blindly out for him without lowering her bow. But he’d already moved out of reach. Lydia was backing away from Isaac looking heartbroken. There was little she could do with him and staying too close might be detrimental to her health. Allison grabbed her arm and guided her to stand behind them.

“Let him go,” said Scott calmly. Way too calmly in fact. The kind of calm that Stiles knew only came over him when he’d made up his mind and was determined to see something through.

“I’ll do it; I’ll let you take my alpha powers, my alpha spark whatever you call it. Just let Stiles go.”

“NO!” Allison and Stiles yelled out in unison. Stiles felt the blade at his throat cut deeper. He didn’t care.

“It’s okay Stiles,” said Scott inching closer. “I never really wanted this anyway. All I really wanted was a cure in the first place, and this responsibility is far too much for me.”

“Don’t say that,” pleaded Stiles. “You’ve been an alpha all of two seconds and still you’re leagues better than Peter ever was. You’ll learn. I’m sure Derek will help you!”

“Derek won’t be helping anyone,” interrupted Peter his patience clearly wearing thin. “And you’re not helping your own case one bit by dragging this out.”

“Please don’t…” Stiles felt tears welling up, spilling over, finding new trails down his face. “Please, Scott. There has to be another way…”

Scott’s eyes were tearful as well and he looked like he was about to vomit. “I see no other option,” he admitted, voice pleading for Stiles to have some last resort, some hail Mary to pull out at the last minute.

He had nothing.

“It’ll kill Derek,” he whispered. Scott gulped audibly and averted his eyes. He’d never looked more forlorn and small.

“I know. And I’m so sorry about that. But I can’t lose you, Stiles. You’re my rock. My brother. My family. Down the line maybe I’d come to see Derek that way as well, but if I have to choose, I’ll always choose you.”

He turned to Derek, looked him right in the eye, pleading for understanding. Derek’s face was set in that grim line that Stiles had learnt to know meant he’d accepted his fate. He nodded once and Scott crumbled. Stiles felt his world shatter.

They’d made their deal. Sealed it with a nod, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“If you kill him, Scott… it will kill me – _inside_.”

Scott was openly crying now, Allison was sobbing and Lydia had crumpled to the mossy floor, all thought of her designer shoes forgotten.

“You’ll heal – in time. And perhaps one day you’ll forgive me as well. I have to believe that. I have to believe this is for the best.”

 _Believe_?

How could Scott possibly believe any of this would ever be okay? And with Peter and Jennifer tied together in a freaking unbreakable vow it would be impossible to persuade any of them to step back. When had his life turned in to a freaking Harry Potter novel anyway? All that was missing was a crazy prophecy about how no one could live if the other one died, but it wouldn’t really matter much one way or the other because nothing ever stayed dead in this town anyway –

Stiles’ train of thought skidded to a sudden halt, and then backtracked seven paces.

No? Wait, could it?

In theory it _could_ work, but it would depend on one thing that he certainly didn’t know could be possible. It was just a hunch, a feeling, something that was swirling inside him begging to be released.

It was just so – _farfetched_! And _unlikely_. And _possibly impossible_!

But on the other hand he had nothing to lose anyway – nothing _more_ to lose.

‘ _What was that thing Deaton said_?’ he thought desperately flipping through his mental archive searching for that last piece of confidence he needed to –

Goddammit!

It was stupid to even think it, to entertain such a ridiculous notion that he could –

He bit his lip to avoid screaming in frustration. It was ludicrous, implausible and fanciful and yet he had to try. Stiles had to shred all doubt. Clear his mind – and just _\- believe_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrated. Deaton had said it was incredible what the mind could accomplish if you only believed. It was time to put it to the test.

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_Peter died – Peter should still be dead._

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

The strangest feeling started spreading throughout his body, starting as a warm sensation in the middle of his forehead and trickling down in all directions. Soon the surroundings began to blur, Scott and Peter’s voices were drowned out, and all he could hear was a faint hum, growing stronger. It was soothing.

From somewhere far away he could hear cries of surprise, but Stiles held on to the feeling of floating, of warm power building, taking root, blossoming – a little seed of a thought was about to bloom into full fledged belief. He just had to keep nurturing it.

“What the hell is going on?”

That was Scott’s voice. He sounded half awed, half scared. Lydia whimpered softly. Allison cried out “ _incredible_!”

“Is this your doing?” yelled Peter shrilly. Stiles vaguely registered him spinning around, arms waving. The knife at his throat trembled.

“No,” cried Jennifer jarringly. “This isn’t me. Why would I make leaves hover midair?”

A split second everything was quiet. Then –

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

Someone grabbed hold of him, yanked him out of Jennifer’s hold.

“You absolute shit! This shouldn’t be possible! I never bit you. I never activated this in you the way I did with Lydia. I offered you once remember, but you refused me. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and you’ve shown no signs, _nothing_.”

“What is he doing?” Jennifer sounded panicked. Stiles heard Derek howl; a new fire burning – _hope_.

“He’s _believing_ ,” snarled Peter.

Stiles opened his eyes and saw Peter’s normally so Zen demeanor was showing signs of cracks.

“What does that even mean,” hissed Jennifer. She whirled towards Allison who had taken several steps forward, bow at the ready now that Jennifer wasn’t hiding behind her hostage anymore.

“It means you have to kill him – NOW!” screamed Peter, eyes wide and desperate.

A strange sort of peace descended and Stiles found himself smiling broadly, pleasantly at Peter. He looked confused for a second and that was all the time Stiles needed.

In the blink of an eye the leaves that were still hovering in the air formed a cloud, sped towards Jennifer and engulfed her in a tornado of slapping, cutting verdures. She screamed in frustration, agony – who knew? But Stiles took advantage of the confusion it created to concentrate on his ropes – and the next moment they pooled to the ground, untied.

He didn’t waste any time and kicked Peter hard in the balls. Taken off guard the werewolf fell to the floor howling in pain and Stiles dived for Derek waving a hand over the line of ash and it immediately broke. Before he could blink Derek was on top of Peter, pinning him to the ground; fangs out, claws at the ready.

Stiles glanced behind him and saw that Allison had moved up to the leaf-storm ready to attack Jennifer as soon as she reappeared. But for the moment she was indisposed. Scott stood beside Derek, claws out face snarling, ready to assist if needed.

“I’m going to kill you – for good this time,” snarled Derek. Peter moaned but still managed to glare defiantly up at his nephew, fuming with hate.

Stiles scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards them.

“NO, Derek! Don’t do it!”

Derek whipped his head around, eyes flashing blue and glared at Stiles, as if his protestations personally offended him.

“Why not? He was condoning _werewolf genocide_ , Stiles! He was going to kill me. He was going to kill _you_ …”

The last bit came out as a hitch and he hastily turned his head away, but not fast enough. Stiles had seen the expression and almost fell to the ground when the implications hit him – when the depths of Derek’s feelings for him became obvious.

“Listen,” he said intently, moving forward, gently placing his hand on Derek’s neck; squeezing comfortingly.

“Let me try something first. If it fails, you can rip, tear, slit, slash, cleft and maim him to your hearts content. But please, let me try something first.”

Derek tensed. A few excruciating moments later he relaxed, bowed his head slightly and Stiles knew instinctively that it was the permission he needed.

And then reached inside for that warm wave and he began to chant.

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_Peter Hale died – Peter Hale should still be dead._

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

_I believe what was dead should stay dead_

The air was suddenly filled with electricity, currents. Peter began to shake, to trash around. Derek had to strain to keep him pinned down.

 

It was like watching a time lapse of someone going from alive and well to sickly and dead within a span of just a minute. Peter’s skin began to pale, then went, then gray. His lips cracked, eyes dimmed. Before their very eyes the slashes across his neck that Derek had made that night of the Winter Formal reappeared, blood caked and dried. Peter’s movement stilled, his body went stiff.

 

“Oh my god,” whispered Scott. “How on earth – what the hell! _Stiles_?”

 

Stiles didn’t realize it until it was over, but he was panting, sweat was running down his face and he felt dizzy. He smiled lopsidedly and slumped down on the ground beside Derek. 

 

“Peter wasn’t real. He was an abomination. Dead things shouldn’t walk around among the living. Sometimes we really want that, I know I do. But it’s not right. It’s what I believe. And it worked.”

 

His vision blurred and he had to steady himself on Derek. “Whoa,” he muttered.

 

“What’s wrong?” Derek sounded even more panicked than before if possible. It made Stiles’ heart soar.

 

“I can’t keep that up much longer,” he mumbled with a weak wave in Jennifer’s direction. Cries of frustration could still be heard inside the flurry of whirling greenery and the speed was decreasing. They sometimes got a glimpse of her now – features morphing between that of the darach and Jennifer Blake.

 

“Let it go,” said Allison firmly. “We can take it from here.”

 

Stiles laughed and collapsed fully in a heap of aching limbs. “Awesome,” he muttered and let the warm, dwindling sensation inside him flicker and die.

 

The last thing he heard before he once again was claimed by darkness, was a gut-chilling scream.

 

***

 

Everything was so fucking white.

Oh no! Stiles groaned mentally. Not this place again. It reminded him of that white room with the Nemeton. He had hoped to avoid that place for like eternity.

He turned his head slightly, the movement eliciting a weak moan and a wince. He ached everywhere.

‘I guess that means I’m not dead at least’, he thought sarcastically, blinking away tears. God the light was so fucking bright!

“I think he’s awake.”

Something dark materialized before his eyes dimming the whiteness. Stiles gasped and flinched when a set of eyes bore down on him.

“Hello, Stiles. Welcome back.”

The monotone murmurs of Alan Deaton washed over him and he relaxed again. Although that was kind of hard because he was not exactly resting comfortably.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, voice raspy. “And can I get a pillow or something even vaguely softer than this freaking bench. I’ll take anything. A sock, a book, a dog.”

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sparkling wit,” said a voice above his head and he craned his neck trying to get a glimpse of – yep that was his dad.

Looking very disapproving.

“Hi dad. How are you?”

His dad rolled his eyes, arms crossed and for all he tried to hide it Stiles could see how worried he looked, even if he was upside down at the moment.

“ _How am I_?” The sheriff harrumphed. “I’m worried out of my mind that’s what I am. Not 24 hours after you were kidnapped and assaulted you get kidnapped and assaulted _again_ only to land in a fucking supernatural coma of sorts on top of it.”

“Coma?”

“Yes, son. Coma. You’ve been out of it for two days.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and he sat up quickly. Way too quickly as it turned out.

“Whoa, dizzy,” he muttered and slumped down again. Deaton glided up to him with a cup and a straw. Stiles drank greedily – it felt like nectar from the gods!

“You’re weak,” said Deaton tonelessly. “What you did took a lot of energy. It drained you almost dry.”

His dad’s face popped up above him again, still upside down and still frowning deeply.

“That is just his polite way of saying you nearly died! For Christ sake, Stiles! I can’t lose you. Not you too.”

His dad’s voice hitched and dear god – no! Stiles could handle a lot – rabid werewolves, crazy banshees, paralyzing kanimas and even evil teachers. But his dad crying – that had always been the most terrifying thing he could think off. And especially knowing he was the cause of it.

“Dad,” he said pleadingly, reaching out only to find he had no strength to keep his arm lifted for long. It plumped down again with a dull thud.

“Dad, don’t – I’m sorry. Oh will you please move, I’m getting dizzy watching you upside down like that.”

His dad complied wordlessly, face grim and pale. He took Stiles’ hand and squeezed it tight.

“Don’t do that again, son,” he pleaded. “Promise me that!”

Stiles tried to smile back reassuringly but it probably came out as more of a grimace. His _everything_ hurt.

“I want nothing more than to do just that, but I’m not even sure I know what I did. It doesn’t make much sense and my brain is still kind of foggy on the details…”

“It will come back to you when you’re back to full strength,” said Deaton with a placid smile. “And I think you know exactly what you did. I know I explained it to you once before, and I also know you succeeded that time. But this was on a whole other scale, and I’m afraid you overdid it a bit.”

Stiles was amused to see his dad glare at Deaton with the same kind of resigned annoyance he himself so often did when dealing with the elusive vet.

“A bit?” he asked incredulously. Deaton merely smiled.

"So I just -   _believed_?”

Stiles had trouble just saying it. The whole thing was still ludicrous to just think about, and saying it out loud made him feel silly and self-conscious.

Deaton gave the barest of nods.

“It’s astonishing what the mind can accomplish,” he conceded. “But there is nothing “just” about it. Not everyone can do what you did. It’s rare, especially the scope of your powers for the lack of better word. And it’s also dangerous – most notably for you. Power like that can’t just be made – it needs to come from someplace – like a battery. And you are that battery, Stiles. And if the battery runs dry, empties out, well – then it’s basically useless. But use just a little and it will recharge.”

Stiles laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head as much as it would allow without sending him into waves of migraine.

“That is one shitty analogy, doc. But I get the point,” he added hastily upon seeing his dad’s murderous eyebrows up close and personal. Damn, those could rival Derek’s on a bad day!

“So, basically my son is Professor X?” The sheriff glared at Dr. Deaton, his bad cop persona in full swing. “You do realize how utterly terrifying that notion is? I live with the kid and I love him dearly, but his mind can be a warped place at time. To know he can bend things to his will with the power of his belief is giving meg gray hairs by the minute.”

“Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence,” muttered Stiles feeling gutted. His dad’s eyes softened and he gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

“I need to know what to expect here son, and I know that you always mean well. I’m not concerned about your morals for god’s sake. I’m worried about control – for all you’ve told me about werewolves and kanimas and the importance of anchors, I want to assure me that this isn’t something that can just take you over and kill you at the drop of a hat, or just because you suddenly believe something.”

“A valid concern,” assured Deaton. “And it is of utmost importance that Stiles learns to control this. Like I mentioned earlier I know for a fact that he’s tapped into it on one occasion before. There might be more. For some these kinds of abilities might never come to the surface, others peek through in high stress situations when adrenaline is pumping high. I believe that is what’s happened in Stiles’ case. I’d like to give you some homework, Stiles. And it’s simply to think back, perhaps even talk to your friends and pack mates and try to think of incidents where you’ve done things, or things have happened that have been incredible, unrealistic or surprising. Perhaps you might unwittingly have been behind them.”

“Huh,” said Stiles carefully thinking about holding up Derek for two hours in a pool wearing shoes and clothes when he’d never been much of a swimmer, or how he’d actually saved Cora’s life that time in the ambulance using shitty CPR. Could it really be connected?

“So, you’ll teach him then,” asked his dad hopefully. Deaton shook his head.

“No.”

“No? Then what do you suggest we do? Send him on his way to wing it. I fear for this city in that case.”

Deaton almost smiled, but instead handed the sheriff a card. “I am not equipped to deal with this. Stiles’ abilities are beyond my scope of knowledge. There is one person in the area that can help, but there are certain complications connected to it. I want you to contact this gentleman to discuss it further. I’ll be of any assistance that I can, limited as it might be.”

“Can we go home now?” asked Stiles wearily. He felt like shit, this bench was doing more harm than good, and he was quite frankly past the daily dosage of Deaton he could handle without turning into a certifiable little shit. Deaton didn’t always bring out the best in him.

“I still think we should take him to the hospital,” said his dad. Stiles would’ve protested wildly, but his body was not on board with that plan. All he could muster was a weak whimper. Deaton came to his rescue, incredibly enough.

“It’s not necessary. Melissa has been here as you know to check on him as well. There is nothing medically wrong with him aside from the abrasions and the cuts. What Stiles needs now is solid rest. And I believe he’ll get more quality rest at home than the hospital.”

“What the doc said,” mumbled Stiles, eyes pleading. His dad relented with a sigh.

**

For the first day home all Stiles did was sleep, pee and drink copious amounts of vitamin water. He slipped in and out of consciousness like the world longest snooze-fest and his dad was there every time he opened his eyes, squeezing his hand comfortingly or petting his hair.

“I’m not five, you know,” said Stiles drowsily sometime late that afternoon. His dad just smiled fondly and continued his ministrations. Stiles found he didn’t much mind.

“I know,” he murmured, “but in my mind you’ll always be my little boy – our little boy, and I’ll never stop wanting to take care of you.”

Stiles hadn’t managed to respond, but it wasn’t necessary. His dad had simply brushed away the tears, laid down beside him on the bed and held him until they both fell asleep.

**

He blinked awake to a dimly lit room. It was either late afternoon or too fucking early in the morning. Stiles couldn’t tell, but at least he was feeling more rested. He stretched feeling several joints pop and was pleased to find that he was not as sore anymore. His head was still a bit sluggish, and he could see bandages around his wrists, but all in all he’s feeling pretty good.

And he was hungry. His stomach rumbled loudly to drive the point home, and Stiles sighed deeply. He was in the somewhat painful process of getting out of bed when the door opened and his dad stepped through carrying a tray of pancakes and a pitcher of OJ.

Stiles moaned filthily as the smell wafted over him and made impatient gimme gestures. The sheriff snorted softly.

“I see you’re on the mend,” he commented dryly putting the tray down on Stiles’ bedside table and handed him another pillow so he’d sit more comfortably. Suitably arranged Stiles grabbed the tray and begun inhaling the food in a manner predating the first Homo Sapiens.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” muttered Stiles happily between bites. “This is awesome by the way. You did not make these.”

“I’m hurt by your accusations. My pancakes are renowned throughout the county,” said his dad airily. Stiles snorted.

“Yeah, right – not so much. You manage to fuck up store bought mixes. That is a gift.”

The sheriff shrugged and grabbed a pancake. Stiles stared morosely after it as it disappeared into his mouth.

“You’re right,” admitted his dad between bites. “Melissa made these. I have more batter in the fridge, so just eat as many as you’d like.”

“This is the best day ever,” proclaimed Stiles as he drenched the rest of the stack in maple syrup. His dad eyed his plate greedily and Stiles waved a fork at him threateningly.

“Don’t even think about it, mister,” he warned. “This is not good for your cholesterol and you know it.”

“My cholesterol levels have been fine for five years.”

Stiles shook his head. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that one. You’re a lying liar that lies – you promised no more Oreos and I know you keep hiding them around the house. Why sneak around like that if everything is fine and dandy?”

His dad leveled him with a grim glare, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t be so quick to throw around accusations of _lying liars_ if I were you. You’re keeping more secrets from me than I deem healthy, and it needs to stop. I understand your reasons, son. Heck, I feel the same way about you. I want nothing more than to wrap you up in cotton and protect you from everything bad. But I have to accept that I can’t shield you from the world – I can only prepare you and help you. And you need to do the same for me. You need to let me in. And not just into the outer hall and serve me finger food and champagne. I want all the way in to the buffet table.”

Stiles chewed on a piece of pancake, eyebrow raised high.

“That is a terrible metaphor. Perhaps your worst yet.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes in that patented Stilinski way. “So sue me! You understand where I’m going, don’t you. Honesty, Stiles. I want it. The good, the bad and the ugly. I might not always like it, I might not always agree with you, but I will always support you and help you. You know that right?”

Stiles shrugged awkwardly. He did know that. Of course he did. But sometimes it was hard to lose sight of it. And he was probably equally to blame for that. They had drifted more apart lately, ever since Scott was bitten and that was largely because of secrets, half-truths, omissions and evasions on his part.

“I know,” he said firmly reaching for his dad’s hand when he saw the crushed look on his face. “I do know that. And I’m sorry about the lying. I’ll work on it, I promise. But then you have to promise to trust me more too. I know I might come off as a spaz, and my track-record isn’t the best. Heck, even Scott tends to dismiss most of my theories and it’s frustrating. I guess on some level I’ve given up on getting anyone to take me seriously.”

His dad squeezed back. “I’ll do better, son. I know how smart you are. And now that we have this Professor X thing to work on as well I think it will be a good opportunity to build a new foundation.”

Stiles nodded, heart swelling with love.

“But –“ added his dad “- that will require you to stop lying. Promise me to tell me things as they are from now on – no creative schemes and elaborate cover-ups of any kind. Okay?”

Stiles feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.” His dad laughed heartily.

“Seriously? Well, let us count the ways. Firstly – Parrish.”

Stiles spluttered spraying bits of pancake all over his covers and nearly knocking over his glass of juice. “What do you mean Parrish?” he asked innocently, wiping off a trail of maple syrup running down the wall.

His dad pursed his lips and scoffed. “I mean I know that you were the one falling under Parrish’ fae spell. Please son, I’m a sheriff, not a moron.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” asked Stiles. Clearly it was no point in denying it.

“Honestly?” His dad smiled smugly and a sense of dread settled in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. He was suddenly not so sure he wanted to know.

“I probably would’ve called you on it if it weren’t’ for the fact that Derek Hale jumped in to save the day taking the blame. I just had to see how that would play out.”

“You knew it was fake the whole time?” Stiles’ eyes were bugging probably making him look like Coach Finstock’s offspring.

“Of course I did. Stiles, you are smart, brave and borderline supernatural it seems, but you’re not subtle. And your poker face is abysmal. You get that from your mom by the way. You’re no great actor and Derek is even worse.”

“Believe me, I know,” mumbled Stiles embarrassed. “So the dinner, it was all just to see how we’d react? To torture us?”

“Basically, yes.”

“You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m not,” said the sheriff tenderly. “Besides, it’s not fake anymore, is it?”

Stiles blushed to the tips of his ears. “Daaaaad,” he whined. “Please, don’t make me talk about feelings.”

The sheriff leaned closer, face set in his patented interrogation mode. Stiles was so screwed.

“So there is feelings to talk about?” he inquired.

“No?” said Stiles weakly cowering under his dad’s intense stare. “Okay, fine!” He caved. “I can’t take you looking at me like that. Yes, I guess there is. Or I think there is. There is on my end anyway, not sure about Derek. I guess I might suspect he kind of cares a bit, but it’s not like we’ve talked about it in so many words, so I can’t really be sure. In fact I’m not even a little bit sure. Come to think of it I have no clue. I’m possibly just imagining things. Yeah.”

“You’re babbling,” said his dad with a smile. “You only babble when you care. You used to babble about Lydia Martin for hours on end. I haven’t heard a peep about her for months.”

“Stop psycho-analyzing me,” pleaded Stiles. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay. In fact I just want to lie here and perhaps mope a bit about my misguided notions and then try to get over it. Don’t make it harder than it is.”

His dad smiled, grabbed the by now empty tray and got up.

“It’s not just on your end,” he said, smiling down on him. “Derek has been a wreck for days worrying about you. Deaton had to put up a line of mountain ash around you to get him to go home and get some rest and even then it took both Isaac – who is fine by the way – and Scott to drag him out of there. And I know he’s been sitting here with you when I’ve been out of the room.”

Stiles just gaped. What?

“In fact I believe he’s outside your window right now. He seems to think he’s stealthy, but I haven’t been a cop for this many years for no reason. So you can come in here, Derek when I leave. And I’ll trust you to not get up to too strenuous activities until he’s fully healed.”

“DAD! Seriously?”

“Oh please,” said the sheriff with a scoff. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, I appreciate you looking out for Stiles like you do, Derek,” he said in the general direction of the window. “I’m going in to the station now, but I’ll be back later this afternoon, not sure when. Perhaps we could eat dinner together all three of us. There is a game on later tonight as well.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left the room. As soon as the sound of him walking down the stairs died down the window opened and Derek climbed in looking perhaps even more embarrassed than Stiles.

He closed the window again and just stood there, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched.

“Hi,” said Stiles breathlessly. Derek smiled tentatively.

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Mortified.”

Derek laughed and it broke some of the tension. “You and me both,” he added softly.

“What are you doing over there?” Stiles inched closer to the wall and patted the empty place beside him.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” said Derek hesitantly. “Your dad clearly doesn’t like – “

“Stop right there,” interrupted Stiles smiling broadly. “You obviously don’t speak the complicated and nuanced language of “dad”, but I have years and years of experience. First of all he’s about to leave – yep there’s the door. In a moment you’ll hear the engine starting.”

He paused and true to word twenty seconds later they heard the roar of the motor.

“Secondly,” continued Stiles as the sound of the squad car grew fainter, “if dad really wanted to keep me from doing something, that was not how he’d go about it. He’d drop me off at the scary lady across the street for an afternoon of cabbage casserole and slide shows of bulldogs. Instead he invited you in. And now,” he grinned smugly, “I’m inviting you into my bed. You may interpret that however you want, but I recommend you go for the racy variety.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively making Derek snort. But he did as requested and came over, sitting down on his bed. Stiles grimaced.

“I was thinking more along the lines of you in a horizontal position. Clothing optional.”

“I was thinking you’re still healing and shouldn’t strain yourself,” countered Derek sternly.

“Please, my cuts are healing fine, my energy is mostly back and aside from a myriad of bruises the only thing of concern is some major swelling.”

Derek startled, concerned eyes trailing over Stiles’ face, neck, arms.

“Swelling is not good, Stiles. Why haven’t you said anything? Perhaps we should get Melissa over to-“

Stiles stopped him with a finger to his lips. The other hand grabbed Derek’s and guided it under the covers onto his stomach and then further down.

“It’s not a bad kind of swelling,” he said breathlessly, back arching of the bed to meet Derek’s hand.

“You’re incorrigible,” groaned Derek, eyes half-lidded, breath hitching.

“Deal with it,” murmured Stiles and then they were kissing. Desperately, clinging, chests mushed together, teeth colliding, kissing.

“I thought you died,” moaned Derek between kisses, breathing Stiles in, nuzzling his neck, licking, marking, scenting.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” mumbled Stiles incoherently. God he loved Derek’s hands on him. The firm strokes, the reassurance. How safe he felt.

How happy.

“This is real, right? Us I mean.”

He watched panting as Derek kissed his way down his chest, teeth scraping over his already erect and sensitive nipples.

“Yes,” he answered firmly, eyes meeting Stiles’. His heart soared and for a minute they simply grinned stupidly at each other.

There were no grand declarations of love, no poetry. But it was all he needed and all he wanted. They were Stiles and Derek, and they did their best communication with eyebrows and facial expressions anyway. And the way Derek was looking at him said it all. And if he had had any doubts before, they were all erased now.

“Yes,” he echoed and Derek smiled _that_ smile – the one Stiles thought of as his. And then it morphed into something positively filthy that had Stiles moaning like a porn star in anticipation.

They’d be alright, Stiles thought happily feeling sure and confident in a way he hadn’t for years. Not since his mom died, really. He’d been adrift ever since, constantly searching for something to ground him; to anchor him.

It was absurd that the grumpy guy in the woods would end up the stabilizing force he so desperately needed, but the world was funny like that. And looking down on Derek leaving trails of kisses across his abdomen Stiles somehow just knew he would be good for Derek too.

And that was the last coherent thought he had that day, and he wasn’t even a little bit sorry about any of the activities that followed. (The same could not be said for the sheriff, but that is a whole other story.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Thank you so much for making your way through 14 chapters of stuff purely made up as I wrote it. It's been a fun journey and if the story doesn't flow a 100 % and there are plot holes you're scratching your head over - don't worry - it's not you, it's me and the total lack of planning any kind . Let me know what you thought - good and bad. Until next time :)


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